Capitol of Glass
by OctaviaWithStarsForEyes
Summary: Ten nations. Ten different brands of magic. Thirty girls in an elite competition holding an unstable empire together. And Prince Silas Gaffrey isn't prepared for any of it. [Or: People in glass castles shouldn't throw stones.] / SYOC closed
1. Arrangements Are Made

**SO!**

**It's been a hot minute, Selection fandom. How are you? Hyped? Giddy? Here to harrass me about a BA update? Ha ha ha, classic y'all. **

**Jokes aside, I'm THRILLED and TERRIFIED to be back, because I've been nursing this idea for at least half a year, and I really want it to go well. There is quite a bit of world-building to get used to, but anything not clumsily-exposition'd to you guys will be on my profile, and you're welcome to PM me other questions. **

**There are also two (count 'em: 2) pinterest boards on my profile, octaviastareyes, also linked on my profile. Further information will come in the next chapter, posted next week on Saturday (August 17), so stay tuned. **

**Happy reading!**

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Silas laughed as he ducked under the spire of glass impaling the space where his head had been, and used it to swing onto a ledge on the edge of the arena.

"Is that all you've got?" He taunted, sweeping his hand to destroy said spire and send the shards hurling straight for Stelle like throwing knives.

His sister growled, her lips pulling over her teeth, and batted the shards away. One of them managed to slip out of her reach and clipped her across her cheek, leaving a stripe of ruby blood.

Stelle used a thick branch of glass to smash the ledge under Silas's feet and send the stone crumbling. Caught off guard, he threw his hands out in a panic and summoned a landing pad of glass. Despite his reaction time, his ankles still thrummed with the shock of the head-on landing with the unyielding glass and he swore aloud.

"Messy," Stelle called as she jerked the glass towards her and stole it from underneath him.

Silas landed on the floor with an _oomph_ but jumped back to his feet, undeterred, beckoning for some of the glass across the arena to rise to his command.

"Slow," Stelle snapped, using a wave of glass to slam him to the side with no mercy.

He just barely sent out his magic to shove the wave off him and into Stelle, giving him time to get to his feet. He tasted iron in his mouth, probably from when he bit down on the inside of his cheek during that first landing.

Stelle was on her feet almost immediately, the glass pooled around her ankles. Neither sibling made a move for a tantalizing second, and then Stelle threw her hands forward and tried to redo the same trick, with the overwhelming wave. Despite seeing it coming, Silas was forced desperately redirect it at the last moment, sending it to the right in a spray of glass. Never relenting, Stelle followed up with a razor-sharp javelin that nearly punctured his skull.

"Jesus, you nearly killed me," he shouted, dropping to the ground.

"Next time, don't duck," she hissed, icy eyes flashing.

From ground-level, he noticed the pools of glass still available behind her, and reached out to send ribbons of glass wrapping around Stelle's ankles and slithering up her body.

She shrieked, her strategic mind fleeing at the serpent-like sensation, and Silas used the lapse in her concentration to collect the rest of the glass and overwhelm her.

Spitting blood, Silas got to his feet and stalked towards Stelle, his vice-like grip on the glass keeping her trapped down on the floor.

Pulling the iron dagger out of the sheath strapped to his thigh, he squatted over where Stelle was writhing on the floor and held it lazily to her throat. She instantly went still, her jugular jumping under the point of his blade

"Checkmate," he drawled. Her chest heaved with rage, but she was forced to admit that she had lost this round.

"I yield," she bit out, fury etched in her face. "Let me up, _now_, Silas."

"Relax, sister dearest," he responded easily, relaxing his grip on the glass. "You're free to go."

Stelle instantly threw the weighty glass off her in a brutal shove that sent it shattering clear across the arena, and stormed away.

"Someone's a sore loser," he called mockingly after her. He received a vulgar gesture in response, and laughed.

"You know, you really shouldn't rile her up like that," came an amused voice from behind him.

"Why not?" Silas grinned, absently waving his hand to gather up all the glass and form a neat cube. "It's not like playing nice with her is gonna do me any favors. She's trying to kill me, and no amount of groveling would change that."

Faris snorted, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm just saying, it wouldn't kill you to be a little sympathetic. She did lose the crown, after all."

"Boohoo," Silas said, falling into step with his younger brother. "I mean, you lost the crown, too, technically. But I don't see your temper tantrum."

"I didn't lose anything," Faris scoffed. "We all knew Dad was never going to choose me as heir. I'm too–,"

"Pacifistic?" Silas suggested, pulling his shirt off as they walked. He mopped his sweaty forehead with it and then tossed it into the laundry bin in front of the weapons room.

"I was going to say artistically-inclined," Faris corrected, wrinkling his nose. "Stelle's different. I mean, Mom told her basically every day of her life that she would be Queen one day. And she's pretty suited to it, if you think about it."

"Well, maybe that was true then. But Mom's not here anymore," Silas said matter-of-factly. "And Dad picked me, so she's just going to have to deal with it."

"You know Stelle," Faris sighed. "She always gets her way. Maybe she'll try to murder you for the throne."

Silas chuckled. "I'd like to see her try. She can't even beat me in a fight."

"Liar. I saw her beat you just the other day," Faris corrected, bumping shoulders. "Don't get too big-headed."

"Don't worry about it. With both you and Stelle in the house, I'm in no danger of that," Silas replied, grinning. He glanced around and frowned when he noticed an important absence. "Hey, where's your little shadow? Is the brat in lessons?"

"Don't call him that, Rori's a sweet kid. And he adores you." Faris shot him a dark look. "Not that you've given him a reason to."

"I'd prefer if he did hate me," Silas retorted. "He's a nasty little gremlin."

"No, he isn't. Drop it, Si," Faris said flatly. "Besides, he'll be out of lessons any moment, and I don't want him to hear your whiny bullshit."

As if on cue, the sound of tiny, frantic footsteps echoing on stone became audible, and they both stopped in their tracks to listen to it. They grew louder, and then suddenly a blur of blue silk and curls slammed into Faris's legs.

"Faris!" His little voice came out muffled due to his face being planted in the fabric of Faris's shirt.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, ruffling the brunet curls on the kid's head. "How were lessons?"

"Good," Rori said. His wide, long-lashed eyes trailed to Silas and he sort of shrank behind Faris. Silas thought idly that if Rori could stick to Faris forever, he probably would. "Hi, Mr. Silas."

"Don't call me that, kid," Silas said gruffly, clearing his throat. He wasn't generally fond of Rori or Rori's mom, and didn't really make efforts to hide it. "Just Silas."

"Hi, Silas," Rori amended, peering up at him with doe eyes.

This was why Silas hated spending time with the stupid kid. He was so damn hard to hate, with his big, dumb eyes and his rosy fucking cheeks. But if he acknowledged Rori as his brother or half-brother, or whatever the hell, he'd never forgive himself.

It was one of the few things he and Stelle still agreed upon. Even now. That they'd never betray their mom like that. Rori wasn't part of the family, not in Silas's mind.

"Listen, Faris, I'll see you around," Silas said, backing away. "I gotta shower anyway."

"Silas," his brother said disapprovingly, a hand resting on Rori's head. "Stay a bit."

"Nah, you two have fun, though," Silas told them, not missing the way Rori's giant eyes widened with hurt. "Bye."

Rounding a corner, he strode quickly through the empty halls to escape the disappointment on both of their faces. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't be good like Faris, who cared for Rori even when both Silas and Stelle refused to. He wasn't good with kids, and wasn't good with affection, and certainly wasn't good with the way Rori always looked at him, like he hung the stars.

His eyes probably bothered Silas the most, out of everything. Yes, they were big and sparkly, or whatever the hell, but the most important part was that they were brown. Not the vitreous blue that he, Faris, and Stelle shared with their parents. No, Rori had brown eyes like his mom. Lysandra. And that was who Silas really hated.

He'd hated her back when his father had first introduced her as their new mom. He'd hated her after the royal wedding. He'd hated her when she'd moved in. Hell, he had a feeling he'd hate Lysandra even if they had just met on the street.

Here's why: His mom had been brilliant. She was bright and fierce and everything the empire deserved.

Here's what Lysandra was: Not brilliant. She was meek and passive and vain and she'd never ever come even a little close to replacing Karia. No matter how much his father had tried to force everyone to accept her, no one had. Not Silas, not Stelle, not even Faris. Not the other nations either, except for her home country of Haixin.

Really, it probably wasn't her fault. It wasn't like she'd killed Karia, or done anything to Silas, except exist. But that didn't change what her presence in the castle meant to him.

Shaking off the clouds of darkness gathering in his mind, he stepped into his room and headed for the bath. Frankly, the less time he spent thinking about Lysandra or his mom, the better. He was far from the angry, reckless, hurting kid he'd been in the wake of her fresh death, but it still didn't do him good to dwell in it.

* * *

Sunday was the only night they were all forced to eat together. Before Rori and Lysandra, they had eaten together every night. The dinners were light-hearted, enjoyable affairs, like a normal family. Now they were awkward, short, and generally detestable.

When Silas came downstairs, hair still damp, everyone was already there. His dad and Lysandra sat together, with Rori on Lysandra's right, followed by Faris. On the king's left was Stelle, who refused to look at him as he approached.

"Ah, Silas!" King Alastor beamed at him, his eyes crinkling with the action. "There you are. Sit down, let's begin."

Silas slid into his seat without a word, and everyone picked up their forks.

"So, how did the sparring go, son?" Alastor asked. "You won, of course?"  
Stelle's knuckles whitened while Silas mumbled assent.

"Good, good. A king should be able to defend himself, you know," Alastor said, just like he did every other fucking time he mentioned sparring.

"I know, Dad."

Silence reigned, only interrupted by the screech of metal on porcelain as Lysandra sawed through Rori's steak for him.

"Soriel, why don't you tell everyone what you learned in lessons today," Faris spoke up, his eyes sweeping the faces around the table.

Rori bounced in his chair happily. "I learned about the beginning of the empire."

"Did you?" Lysandra cooed in her soft, girly voice. "How smart you are, Soriel!"

Silas rolled his eyes; the kid hadn't even said anything yet. What was there to praise? He nearly made disgusted eye contact with Stelle, just out of habit, and barely remembered to look away.

"I learned how all the nations came together because of Grandpa," Rori continued, his face set in concentration as he tried to recall the information. "Which was 'cause the other countries, like Darthern, without magic got jealous of _our _magic. So he got all the other magic places to form the empire, like Haixin, where Mama is from!"

"That's right! Open up," Lysandra said, trying to feed him a mouthful of rice, which he dodged.

"And the empire is called Hya–Hyla," Rori's brow furrowed with frustration, "–Hylalus. Hysalus."

"Hyalus," Faris corrected gently. "The Hyalus Empire. Good job, Rori. Did you want to–,"

"I've been meaning to speak to you all," Alastor interrupted, causing irritation to steal over Faris's face. "Especially Silas and Stelle."

Both siblings looked up, surprised to be targeted.

"Stelle, I've been in negotiation with Primor Kshatriya," Alastor started. "About the future of Prithvi."

That threw Silas. Primor Kshatriya was the head of House Kshatriya, the family that ruled over the nation of Prithvi, to the east. Although it was normal for all ten Primors to be in contact with the king about the workings of each nation, it was strange for him to mention Prithvi in particular.

"What about it?" Stelle asked suspiciously.

"We've agreed that you might be a good match for his son," Alastor said carefully.

There was a pause as they all processed that, and then Silas and Stelle both shouted, "WHAT?"

"I'm not being married off like some sort of pawn!" Stelle snarled, slamming her utensils down.

"She can't marry Madi, he's my best friend!" Silas yelled.

"Both of you, quiet!" Alastor roared back. The abrupt fury sent both of them back into their seats, shocked into silence. He took a deep breath, reclaiming his cool. "First of all, Silas, I wasn't talking about Lord Madhavaditya. I was referring to his younger brother."

"Mehul?" Stelle and Silas chorused.

"Mehul," Alastor confirmed calmly, his hands steepled. "What do you think, Stelle-bell?"

She sat back in her chair, eyes narrowed to slits. "No."

The king's eyebrows rose. "No?"

"No?" Silas whispered, awed by her audacity.

"Oh no," Faris mumbled.

"That's not a request, Stelle," Alastor said coldly, his face darkening like a thundercloud. "It's already been arranged, understand? You and Mehul will be married at the end of the year, and you _don't_ get a say."

Stelle's lips whitened as she shook with the force of her anger, but even she could see the threatening light of danger in Alastor's blue eyes.

"Damn, that's hard," Silas spoke up, feigning sympathy. "I'll miss ya, Stelle-bell, I really will."

She whirled on him. "YOU–,"

"Speaking of marriages, Silas," Alastor said before Stelle could unleash the torrent of verbal lava doubtlessly awaiting him. "I've decided it's time for you to be married as well."

He dropped his fork. "_What?" _

It was Stelle's turn to laugh coldly, but he couldn't even be mad, consumed in shock.

"I'm only twenty one!" he protested desperately. "What do you mean? I don't need to be married."

"You're ready to be king soon. As my heir, it's important that you find a partner before you ascend to the throne," Alastor said. "I've decided to hold a Selection for you."

"A what?"

"It's an old tradition," Faris spoke up, his voice carefully even. "From the beginnings of the empire. Basically, three girls from each nation come and compete for your hand, and you eliminate them until you find a wife."

Silas's mind whirred as he tried to decide how he felt about this. Maybe it would be interesting, maybe he'd enjoy it, maybe–

Nope, he hated the idea.

"I hate that idea," Silas said flatly. "I _don't_ want to get married yet, Dad."

"Listen Si, us men, we're never quite ready for marriage," Alastor said reassuringly, with a patronizing chuckle. "But when you meet the right girl, it'll be fine. You'll be thanking me."

"Can't we just wait a few more years?" he blurted out desperately. "We can all make it about Stelle and Mehul–,"

"Shut up, Silas," Stelle bit out, her eyes dark with rage.

"–and then in a year or two, we can talk about me and this. Doesn't that sound good, Dad?"

"We're doing it this year, Si, no arguments," Alastor said firmly. "And, I've decided to put Stelle in charge of organizing it."

Silas and Stelle stared at each other, the former horrified, the latter starting to smile slowly.

"Dad, no. Please no." Silas took a deep breath. "Dad, I really, really don't think that's a good idea. Please reconsider."

"No, Daddy, this is a really great idea," Stelle assured him, her voice suddenly sugary-sweet. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"That's what I like to hear," Alastor said, clearly pleased with himself. "You and Lys can plan together, Stelle-bell."

"Ooh, sounds fun!" Lysandra chirped, her face lighting up.

Lysandra and Stelle controlling his love life? Silas felt a little sick. His head was sort of swimming.

"I need to go," he forced out, getting to his feet in a daze.

Alastor's brow knitted. "Silas–,"

"No!" he snapped. "This is your fault! _Don't_."

"I'll go, Dad," Faris could be heard saying behind him as he stormed out of the dining room and let the doors slam behind him.

Ignoring him, Silas stomped down the hallway, heartbeat loud in his ears. Everything was crashing down in his brain, his thoughts at a million miles an hour. How could this be happening? How could his quiet life, training to fight, learning from his dad, how could it all be going up in smoke under him?

"Silas, wait up!"

"I don't want to talk about it," he spat, but he slowed down.

"Listen, Si, don't worry about Stelle," Faris said as he caught up. "Dad won't let her get out of line."

"Dad will be too ecstatic she's not biting all our heads off to care. She'll be able to get away with anything," Silas countered bitterly. "He probably feels bad about the whole Mehul thing."

"Well, the Mehul thing is good, if you ask me. Hopefully she'll be in Prithvi for the majority of your Selection, so she can't actually terrorize you too much," Faris consoled, slinging an arm around Silas's shoulders. "Gotta get some quality time with her future husband, right?"

Silas laughed weakly at that. "I guess so. God, that's crazy. She looked so pissed."

"But just think, once she's married, she's gone," Faris said. "You just have to hold on for a few months."

"Yeah, out with Stelle, and in with a _wife_," Silas said distastefully. "Imagine me as a husband. Doesn't that make me sound old?"

"Well, if everything works out, presumably you'll like your future wife," Faris said. "It's really not as bad as you make it out to be."

Silas hesitated. "I think it is, Faris. I don't think this is actually about me."

"Really? Thirty girls fighting to marry you kind of seems like it's about you," Faris pointed out, squinting.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean this Selection." Silas sighed. "I'm pretty sure some of the other nations are getting… restless. During the Primorium last month, Primor Incini mentioned something in passing, about no longer needing the empire."

Faris inhaled sharply, a hand shooting up to cover his mouth. "You mean like disbanding? Being separate nations again? What about Darthern?"

"Think about it. The empire was founded because Darthern was posing a threat to magical countries, right? But they haven't made a move since Grandpa was still king," Silas said slowly."I can sort of see what they're talking about."

"We can't disband," Faris mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. "We're–we're an empire, we're Hyalus! And we're House Gaffreys, it's our job to unite Hyalus, just like Grandpa."

"I know." Silas looked sideways at him. "I think that's exactly what Dad is doing right now."

Faris's eyes scanned his face. "You think this is all a distraction?"

Silas's lips thinned as he shrugged. "I can't say for sure. But it seems like it, right?"

Faris exhaled heavily, eyes wide. "That's… a pretty strong accusation. If you're right, we're talking about keeping revolution at bay, here, Silas."

"I know," he said grimly. "That's what I'm afraid of."

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**The form is on my profile, and it's a hefty one, so get a head start! Submissions will remain open for a while I think, still haven't decided how long.  
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	2. In Which Things Come Together

**Early update today, you can thank Doctor Kay Strange**

**Here for some political situation info and some Core Four content**

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"You're announcing it today?" Faris demanded, eyes bugging. "That soon? Really?"

"Dad says the estimated schedule has my Selection beginning almost exactly a month from now," Silas repeated, adjusting his tie. He made eye contact with Faris in the mirror. "He wanted the news out to the Primors as soon as possible, so we're going to tell them all at today's Primorium."

"God, this is all happening so fast," his brother remarked, rubbing his face. "You only found out, like, a week ago."

"You're telling me," Silas said wryly, repositioning his crown. "The good part of it is, due to the tight schedule, Stelle will probably have to be locked up planning for it. So she won't have time to poison my breakfast."

Faris ignored the attempt at humor, face pale and drawn. "Are you ready for this, Si? I mean, it's really happening now, once you announce it, there won't be any reversing it."

"I know." Silas closed his eyes, trying to settle his nerves. "But I don't have a lot of choice, do I?"

"I guess not. Good luck out there."

"Thank you." Silas took a deep breath. "How do I look?"

Faris smirked. "Like you're going to wet yourself. Try not to ruin that wonderful suit, Silas, it's so finely made."

"Ha ha, very funny. Go play with the goblin child, you square," Silas replied, smoothing his lapels. "I have to go."

With a departing ruffle of Faris's hair, Silas left his bedroom and headed for the Primorium.

It was understandable that he was nervous. All ten Primors would be there, along with his father, and probably Lysandra. Perhaps Madi would be there with Primor Kshatriya, though. The thought cheered him a little. As the heir to House Kshatriya, Madi was frequently at the Primorium to learn from his father, just as Silas did with his.

If Madi wasn't there, however, chances were Luoxiao, heir to Haixin would be there. She was more of Stelle's friend, and Silas got on better with her younger brother, Anliu, but Luoxiao had always been kind to him.

He automatically straightened as he passed through the doorway, his chin lifting and his shoulders rolling back. The crown on his head seemed to gain weight as he entered the room and took a seat next to his father. Unsurprisingly, Lysandra was also there, on Alastor's right.

Silas scanned the room, looking for a familiar face. Luoxiao was there, offering him a polite smile in greeting, but to his disappointment, Madi was nowhere to be found. He did, however, see his favorite cousin, Fitz, with his father, Primor Torrid of Lumetierre. Fitz grinned lopsidedly at him and Silas returned it.

The other Primors were still arriving, with the last ones to trickle in being Primor Carmine, wearing his customary covering from head to toe. His face was masked behind a veil, which Silas knew was for sun protection. House Carmine governed Ethotaur, a small nation that lived entirely in cave colonies under the surface, and the daylight could be quite damaging for him.

"The Primorium will come to order," Alastor spoke in his booming voice, tapping his glass-fashioned hammer against a little crystal bell. The ringing sound circled the room and eventually died down.

"Your Majesty," Primor Incini of Mortefierro began in his melodic accent. "Last month, we had just barely begun broaching the topic of the possible separation of the empire."

"And I dismissed it. I don't see any reason to do such a thing," Alastor replied stolidly. "Are there problems within the empire that you see solved by disbanding, Primor?"

Incini's face flushed. "It's not that there are problems, Your Majesty, it's simply that Darthern has been silent since your father's reign, and many of us don't see the use for an empire anymore.."

"Many of us?" Alastor tilted his head. "Who would the many of you be?"

"Myself, and Primor Rancor have both been discussing the idea, as well as Primor Hildekant," Incini replied smoothly.

Alastor turned a cold gaze on the other two. "Is that true? Primors?"

Primor Rancor of Alunde had always been a bit of a squirrelly man, better suited to the unbiased life of building things for no one in particular. He didn't so well picking sides, as had become increasingly evident in the last few Primoriums.

Rancor shrank under the king's glare. "It–ah, it was a possibility, Your Majesty, simply a theoretical. Of course, of course, no such action is required now, it was just–,"

"And you, Primor Hildekant? Does Vinterbroste wish to disband?"

Hildekant was a tougher nut to crack. His face was as blank as the ice he wielded, as he replied, "Yes, it's true. The Hyalus empire was a solution to a problem that no longer plagues us. Why should we not wish to split? And why should it be an insult to Castle Verelys? Your father united us during his time, the Gaffreys have served their purpose."

Only because Silas knew his father so well could he see the hidden rage in his father's stony face, the vein jumping in his temple.

"We don't know when Darthern will strike again. Perhaps they are biding their time," Primor Song of Haixin pointed out. "The empire keeps us from being vulnerable against such attacks. We're stronger together, Primors."

Silas's lips flattened. Everyone in the room knew the only reason Song stood with Castle Verelys was because his daughter was queen. Lysandra had sealed the alliance between Haixin and House Gaffrey, and Song would take their side on anything because of it. Soon, they'd probably have Prithvi as well, once Stelle and Mehul tied the knot. And then after that, whichever country won Silas's Selection. Eventually, Faris would be married off, and then Rori. It was all about political strategy.

Primor Torrid used to stand with Castle Verelys too, because of Karia. But since her death, Lumetierre had been carefully neutral. Silas sometimes wondered if that was what his father missed most about his mother: Lumetierre's allegiance.

"I see your concerns, gentlemen," Alastor said, carefully mild. "But perhaps we can address this another time. Prince Silas and I have an announcement to make."

Silas swallowed as everyone looked to him expectantly.

"As I'm getting to the age where I will soon be ready to ascend the throne," he began, his voice miraculously calm, "–my father and I have decided I am ready to marry. In order to find a wife, I will be holding a Selection here in Verelys. House Gaffrey would like to extend the invitation to each nation to send the three most worthy women to compete for my hand."

A cacophony of noise erupted as the Primors all began talking at once. As Alastor tried to field their questions, Silas locked eyes with Fitz, who arched an eyebrow in question. Silas replied with a pained grimace and Fitz hid his laughter behind a hand.

The crystalline sound of the glass gavel colliding with the bell silenced everyone and Silas jumped to attention.

Alastor set the gavel down. "Yes, Primor Adelgotte?"

"Is the Selection going to be a strictly romantic competition?" He asked, his voice characteristically high and soft. Electricity sparked through his frazzled white hair, darting in and out of sight in his excitement.

"To be determined," Silas answered, after a moment of hesitation. "Princess Stelle will be facilitating the ordeal. However, it can be assumed the candidate should be worthy of the throne in all aspects. Primor Brasa-Lascaris?"

Brasa-Lascaris had always been a frighteningly handsome man. Not in the way that he was so good-looking (though he most certainly was), but in the way that no man his age should look such. Emphasis on the frightening. Of course, being from the flesh-shaping nation of Coranzorre probably had to do with his youthful face; Silas knew what a Touched face looked like, thanks to Lysandra.

His voice seemed to ooze like molasses in his sensual Coranzorre accent. "What is the age range for the Selection?"

"Strictly eighteen through twenty three," Silas said firmly, ignoring the look Alastor was giving him. "Primor Saishiro?"

"How long will this Selection be?" The primor of Kaze-han asked. It was probably his doing that had a whispering breeze in the windowless room.

"It will begin next month, and will last as long as it needs to. We estimate anywhere from six months to a year," Alastor jumped in. "However, the exact details are to be worked out."

"To be clear," Primor Kshatriya said, "the girls will all have an equal chance to become queen?"

"Yes," Silas assured him. "I will personally make sure of it."

"How do you suggest we select these girls?" Primor Carmine asked, causing Silas to tense. His voice could be heard not only in the ear but echoing inside Silas's skull.

Ethotaur's unusual brand of powers included telepathy, and every time Carmine spoke, his voice spoke in tandem out loud and in their heads. Silas resented it. It felt like such an invasion. He never got used to it.

"You are free to select any way you want. The invitation is open to any girl in the nation," Silas said. "How you determine who is the best is up to you, but you may only send three."

Each Primor seemed deep in thought. Silas scanned the room and found bitten lips, wrinkled foreheads, and pensive beard-stroking. The king cleared his throat.

"It's obvious there is much planning to do, and unless anyone has an objection, I will adjourn this Primorium," Alastor said, scanning the room with his gavel in hand. After a silent pause, he nodded in satisfaction and hit the bell. "Very well, adjourned."

Everyone got to their feet, and Silas tried very hard not to run to catch up with Fitz.

"Hey, slow down," he called.

Lord Fitzcameron Torrid turned, a grin alight on his rakishly handsome face. "There's the man of the hour! How's my favorite cousin doing? So excited about the Selection, right?"

"So excited," Silas deadpanned. "Can't wait to be married."

Fitz laughed. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to be you right now. On the upside, I'll be sticking around for it."

"Really?" Silas looked at him in surprise. "That's great, are Madi and Anliu coming as well?"

"Anliu for sure, Madi is still trying to convince his dad," Fitz explained, tousling his perpetually disheveled hair. "But of course he'll say yes. Everyone's gonna want an in with you during this thing."

Silas grinned. "Are you all coming to spy on me, Fitzcameron? Is that what this is?"

"Course we are," Fitz answered, slinging an arm around him. "We still have duties. But we're the Core Four! We can't be separated."

"Oh, god, don't call us that," Silas grumbled, but he was laughing.

"C'mon, it'll be fun! We'll tell our parents that you're really liking the girls from our respective nations, and then we just get to hang around and have a laugh," Fitz said brightly. "Drink a little, play some cards. We never get to see each other like this, Si. All four of us in one place? It'll be awesome."

…

Over the course of the week, the others began coming in. Anliu arrived by Wednesday, handsome as ever, and Madi was in on Saturday.

"Lord Madhavaditya," Silas said very primly as Madi stepped into the foyer of the castle. He bowed low. "Welcome to Castle Verelys."

"Your Highness," Madi replied solemnly, bowing even lower. "It is my honor to be here."

They'd held the charade for a moment longer, before bursting into laughter and embracing.

"Ouch, you big oaf, you're cracking my ribs," Silas wheezed as Madi wrapped him up in a bear hug.

"You're as fragile as the glass you play with," Madi teased, dark eyes twinkling as he set him down. "I guess some things never change."

Silas got a proper look at his face and his jaw dropped. "Hang on, what the hell is this? Madi, are you aware there's a furry creature living on your face?"

Madi rubbed his new beard with pride. "Listen, Si, it's been awhile since we've last seen each other. I'm a man now."

"Oh, shove off," Silas laughed. "You look like a bear."

Madi growled playfully. "You're just jealous because you can't grow anything more than a five o'clock shadow."

Silas sighed mournfully. "Alas, it's my curse. Runs in the family though, you should see Fitz's attempts, they're laughable."

Madi perked up. "Is Fitz here already? I know Anliu is."

"Yeah, they both are. C'mon, leave your bags, someone will bring them up for you."

They headed up the stairs to Fitz's room, chatting and catching up.

"So, your sister and my brother, huh?" Madi said. "That's interesting."

"I pity Mehul," Silas responded grimly. "But that'll make us brothers-in-law, won't it?"

"God, that seals it in, huh? We'll all be related then, the Core Four?" Madi mused.

"Don't call us that, not you too," Silas groaned.

"I'm right, though! You and Fitz are cousins, you and Anliu are like step-cousins, and now we'll be brothers-in-law." Madi grinned that blinding smile. "Always knew we were family, but now it's legally confirmed."

"Don't get cheesy on me, Mads," Silas snorted, opening Fitz's door without knocking. "Hey guys, look who finally decided to show up!"

Fitz looked up from the game of cards he was playing with Anliu and broke into a wide smile. "Madi! Ah bless, the gang's all here!"

"Hey munchkin," Madi grinned, reaching over to flick Fitz's ear. "Still haven't grown, I see."

"I'm six feet!" Fitz blustered, ears going red. "I'm above average! Not my fault I hang around a bunch of gangly giants!"

"Don't hang around us, then," Anliu said slyly, smirking. "You're free to go."

"I'd rather chop my hand off," Fitz told him, scoffing. "Besides, you're only six two, you're barely scraping by."

"Anliu's like ninety percent legs, though," Silas pointed out. "He looks the tallest out of all of us because of it."

"I can't help being this beautiful," Anliu said, in that serious, dry way of his and causing them to laugh.

"How are you, you handsome bastard?" Madi grinned, leaning over to shake his hand.

"I've been well," Anliu answered. "Wiping the floor with Fitz at cards."

"Deal me in," Madi requested. "Silas? You want in?"

"I'm good," he said, waving him off.

Silas leaned back contentedly, watching peacefully as Anliu kicked ass at cards. The din of their chatter as they played filled him with a sense of happiness. He'd missed them all, especially all being in the same place. Fitz's bright rasp-edged voice harmonizing with Anliu's low, serene tones and Madi's warm ones made him feel right at home, even as they argued. This, doubtlessly, was the best part of this Selection.

"Si, play a round, why don't you?" Madi encouraged.

"What's the game?" Silas asked, sitting up and scooting into the little circle.

"It's King's Coffers," Anliu answered, dealing him in. "_Qiǎng kú fáng_. Someone start bidding for king."

Silas had played the Haixinese game before, when he'd gone to visit Anliu and Luoxiao at their manor. The game began, and Silas examined his hand. He was about to open his mouth to begin the bidding, when a knock sounded at the door.

"I'll get it," Fitz said, climbing to his feet. He opened the door. "Oh, hey Faris! And hello, Rori!"

Silas twisted around in surprise. "Faris?"

"Sorry," Faris said, coming in. "Rori heard Anliu was here and he wouldn't stop bothering me about it."

"Anliu-_gē_!" Rori practically squealed, running to throw himself into Anliu's lap.

"Hey! _Xiǎo dì_," Anliu exclaimed, catching him and settling Rori in his lap. He began rattling off in rapid Haixinese and Rori replied just as eagerly.

"Have a seat, join the game, cuz," Fitz encouraged Faris, while the two caught up.

"Thanks. Hey, Madi, good to see you," Faris greeted.

"You too, Faris."

"I'll re-deal," Anliu said, reaching around Rori to collect everyone's cards. "It's more fun with more people anyway."

Silas tried not to feel irritated by Rori sitting happily in Anliu's lap. This was supposed to be his time with his friends, but of course Rori had to butt in. Even worse, no one else seemed to have a problem with it, which just highlighted to him how much of a dick he was being.

"Rori, you've grown so much since I last saw you," Madi joked as Anliu redealt. "Soon you'll be taller than Fitz!"

"Really?" Rori asked, delighted, missing the way Fitz jabbed Madi harshly in the side.

"Rori, you don't think I'm short, do you?" Fitz asked, pouting.

He giggled. "No."

"You see? This is why you're my favorite," Fitz said, patting his head affectionately.

"Someone start bidding already," Anliu said impatiently. "We're all getting old and grey here."

"We haven't anything to bid with," Fitz pointed out. "We used up all of the crackers."

"Well, we'll have to improvise, then," Silas said. He took off his watch, Alundish-made. "I'll bid my watch."

Fitz sighed morosely, and began shedding some of the many ornate rings he was wearing. "All of these put together have got to be more than Silas's watch, right?"

"Is that Prithvian emerald?" Faris asked, squinting.

"And a padparascha sapphire," Fitz said smugly. He did love his sparkly things.

"Fine, it's higher," Silas dismissed. "Anyone going to outbid him?"

"I'll pass," Madi said, frowning. "Anliu?"

"I'll bid Rori-_dìdì_," Anliu joked, lifting Rori with ease and placing him in the middle, while the kid shrieked with laughter.

"What do we think, boys, can that beat Fitz's pretty things?" Madi asked, smirking.

"Hmm." Fitz poked Rori in the side, eliciting a squeal. "I don't know…"

"Really?" Madi asked, giving him another poke and getting another squeal. "Seems like good quality."

"It's clearly very valuable," Anliu agreed, joining in on the poking. Rori giggled uncontrollably as the three of them started poking him in all his ticklish spots.

"Stop!" he protested between delighted laughter. "Stop that tickles! Stop!"

At last Anliu had mercy, and scooped the kid back into his lap. "Alright, if I can't bid Rori, I'll pass. Fitz is king this round, let's begin."

Silas looked around the circle, his best friends and his brother, and even Rori, and felt some part of him settle. This was alright. This was good. He couldn't even find it in himself to be mad about Rori peering at Anliu's cards and asking him in a too-loud whisper what each card meant.

"Oi, have you gone deaf?" Madi asked, swatting him. "It's your turn!"

"Shut up, you great ape, I'm going to kick your ass," Silas retorted, swatting him back. "Watch out!"

In fact, he was to strap in for an astounding losing streak of thirteen games in a row, but it didn't matter did it? It didn't matter at all.

**.**

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**That's all for today folks, thank you for reading and working hard on your forms! I think you have most of the information you need to finish forms, but if you need anything else, shoot me a PM! I'll help ya out. **

**There are still plenty of spots open, so feel free to swoop in and snatch one! it's a good time, friends. **

**! If you're planning to submit, please reserve a spot in the nation of your choice, otherwise you may lose it to someone else! You can just message me and let me know which one you want, and I'll save it for you! !**

**The chapter will come either next week or the week after, but I don't want to close the window of time too much. You have time for your forms, so the chapter might be forestalled just so we're not hurtling so quickly towards the deadline. **

**Alrighty, leave a review if you liked and I'll see you in the next one!**


	3. Concerning the In Between

**Lateee update oops**

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**.**

**.**

Silas was aware the girls would be arriving soon. How could he forget? Both the city of Verelys and Castle Verelys were in absolute chaos preparing for the arrival of thirty odd girls from the ten vastly different nations. Silas had tried multiple times to spy on Stelle's planning sessions with Lysandra and the rest of the Selection committee (made up mostly by advisors Silas didn't know), but to no avail.

"It's a surprise, brother dearest," Stelle had said sweetly, slamming the door in his face.

So that was the end of that.

One thing he did know was that there were rumors of the old Coliseum having scaffolding on it, which didn't bode well.

"I'm pretty sure Stelle is going to have them fight to the death for my hand," Silas said to Madi. "It's going to be a literal bloodbath, because she's an absolute psychopath."

"Don't be ridiculous, that's murder," Madi said, not looking up from the letter he was penning. "Even Stelle couldn't get away with that."

"Don't be too certain," Silas grumbled. He flopped back on Madi's bed. "Ugh, I'm _so_ bored. This whole week has been suit-fittings and history lessons and garbage. I want to go train. Come train with me, Madi."

"No. I hate training with you, that arena doesn't have anything living in it," Madi retorted, crossing his arms. "Go ask Fitz."

"Fitz is such a typical Lume, he sucks at fighting," Silas reminded him crossly. "He just shade-strides around and smacks me with a baton until I get a good hit in."

"Harsh. Fitz has some skills."

"Like what? All he's good at is drinking and shitty poetry."

"Well, if you don't want to train with him, ask someone else. Ask Anliu," Madi said, shrugging.

Silas scowled. "...I don't want to."

"Why?" Madi asked absently. When Silas didn't respond, he looked up, eyebrows furrowed. "Why not, Si?"

He kept his lips pressed tightly together, but it was fruitless. Madi's eyes lit up with the realization, and he burst out laughing.

"You're just afraid he's going to kick your ass," Madi taunted, blinding smile stretching from ear to ear. "You are, aren't you?"

"Shut up, Madhavaditya, I am _not_," Silas hissed, shooting him a glare. "Anliu might be well-trained, but so am I. We're evenly matched, okay?"

"Prove it," Madi said, eyebrows raised. "Go spar with him right now."

Silas ground his teeth for a moment, debating the merits of turning down the challenge, but at last he couldn't resist.

"Fine," he said haughtily. "I'll go find him."

Madi put his pen down and stood up, grinning. "Wonderful, I'll accompany you."

"Oh, now you have time for me," Silas groused, but began trudging obediently to Anliu's room, Madi on his heels.

Anliu opened his door, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Obviously he'd just gotten up from a nap, most likely due to the time change. "What is it?"

Silas steeled his nerve, braced his shoulders, and blurted out, "D'you wanna spar?"

Anliu blinked, processing, and then slowly, his lips quirked into a nearly imperceptible smirk. "Why, Silas, I'm honored. I thought you said 'never again' after last time. So glad you've changed your mind."

"I didn't," Silas corrected, shooting Madi a glare. "Someone changed my mind for me."

"Good man, Madi." Anliu extended a hand to Madi and they shook hands, grinning.

"I'll meet you there in ten," Silas grumbled, a very bad feeling about all this.

"Meet you there," Anliu agreed, smiling.

"C'mon, champ, what's with the face?" Madi asked, shoulder-checking him as they walked. "I thought you wanted to spar with someone?"

"Not with water powers," Silas groused. "I really, really hate fighting water powers."

"How could you hate fighting any power? With your glass, every power should be the same, right?" Madi asked.

"Just because it's impervious to other powers, doesn't mean it equalizes them," Silas corrected peevishly. "You know what sucks about water? Drowning. And Anliu always goes for a healthy drowning."

"A little drowning never killed anybody," Madi said cheerfully, clapping him on the back as they passed through the doors of the locker room. "C'mon, let's get you in your combat suit! I'm actually excited to see this."

"That makes one of us," Silas said sourly.

He stripped off his shirt and pants, and pulled his freshly-pressed combat suit from his locker. The fluid, lightweight material made it ideal for matching Silas during his rigorous training. Even after the two years he'd owned it, the wear and tear had been minimal. Impressive, considering Stelle had been out for blood since he was named heir. Then again, he expected nothing short of the genius minds in Vinterbroste's army technology.

Madi tossed him the harness that strapped his knife to his thigh, and he tightened it on, making sure the blade inside could slip free without issue. The musical thrum of it sliding out of the sheath made him smile, and he stood up, tapping the toes of his boots against the ground to settle into them.

Anliu knocked against the doorframe, clothed in his own combat suit. "You ready?"

"So ready," Silas said, trying to conceal his dread.

They entered the arena and took up positions across from each other in the center. At Silas's nod, Madi pulled the lever labelled 'glass'. Four hatches opened in each corner of the arena, and massive glass cubes about Silas's height were pushed into the enclosure. He then pulled the level labelled 'water', and the back wall slid open to reveal a small waterfall.

Silas's heartbeat began to thunder as he reached out with his magic to feel the glass cubes at his disposal. With the glass in the arena, he had power, and adrenaline began to course as he dropped into a defensive stance.

Madi's voice boomed above them. "On my mark!"

Silas tensed, locking eyes with a stony-faced Anliu. Gone was his easy smile and serene disposition, replaced with single-minded determination. Anliu was always an undeniable sort of intimidating, but now he was positively terrifying.

"Ready? Set…"

Silas drew in a breath.

"GO!"

Silas, because he was Silas, struck immediately. The two glass cubes flanking Anliu sprang into action, barrelling towards him to swallow him up. He was slow to react, to Silas's pleasure, and there was a blessed moment, where hesitation flickered across Anliu's face.

Then his hands swept out in wide, identical arcs, and a roaring wave of water slammed back against the walls of glass. Even with his powers, Anliu couldn't destroy the glass; they both knew that. But the action gave him enough time to sprint out of the way of the glass.

Before he could process what was going on, Anliu jumped and slammed his arms down on the landing, the waves of water following his actions, and slamming down on Silas. He barely avoided his reflexive inhale, and blindly grabbed a magical fistful of glass to grow underneath him and propel him out from the water.

He emerged, gasping and sputtering, and raked the hair plastered to his face out of his eyes.

"Bastard," he choked out, throwing a sloppy right hook of glass that Anliu dodged.

His opponent hung back, dark eyes calculating as Silas got to his feet, breathing heavily. _Right_, he thought darkly. _No more going easy._

He gathered his magic, and summoned a rapidly-rotating spire of glass that fired off shards at a quicksilver rate. Anliu's arms moved fluidly to pull up punches of water that swallowed the glass and slammed it under the water. His technique was precise and efficient, but as he was focused on defending the attackers, Silas slowly felt for the pieces he'd already gotten rid of.

It was tough work to multi-task his magic, and it sort of made his brain feel like it was going to split open, but he gathered the shards under the surface, and then in a burst of effort, sent them hurling out from under the water at Anliu's distracted back.

To his credit, some sixth sense ingrained in Anliu had him twisting to respond even as it happened, but he was slightly too slow. Four of the six shards lodged in his shoulder and biceps, and one other shaved across the back of his head.

With that ploy played, Silas scrambled to figure out his next move, and frantically gathered all the loose glass he'd already scattered. The glass in his opponent's bloodstream would weaken his powers, given a moment to kick in, so he just needed to stall for a moment. One more second, and he'd be able to grab all the glass and make sure Anliu couldn't win.

Unfortunately, Anliu had an annoyingly high pain threshold and didn't even spare the crucial moment Silas needed, not even to cry out in pain. Instead, he whipped around, flinty eyes glinting with irritation, and raised his uninjured arm.

For a moment, Silas thought nothing had happened, and then something from behind him slammed into the back of his head like a brick, and he took a breath of pure water. His lungs seized at the invasion, and he coughed soundlessly into the water that enveloped his head, trying not to–

_The initial plunge sucked all the air out of his lungs, and shock at the sudden cold flooded through his bones. Immediately panicked, he opened his mouth to try to replace the lost oxygen. The water was cold and unfamiliar and thick in his mouth, and he thrashed his body around, scrambling for purchase on something. His lungs burned, and he couldn't open his eyes; he could feel himself growing weaker in his struggle. He couldn't find the surface, why couldn't he find the surface?_

Help_, he screamed soundlessly into the water, a mistake that cost him another choking fit. He was growing hazy and light-headed, his movements turning sluggish. _

_Just before he thought he was done for, he felt a pair of hands brace around his ribs and pull him out of the water.  
_

"_Silas! Oh my god, Silas! Breathe, breathe!" she begged urgently, but her voice was faraway and tinny. _

"_Maman?" he wheezed, his breathing coming out jagged and weak. "Maman… Maman…"_

"_Silas, cough, cough it all out," she told him frantically. "Cough it, or Maman can't help you!"_

_He tried to do as obeyed, but it quickly drained the little energy he had, and a moment later, his eyes were rolling back in his head. _

"_Silas!" _

_Maman!_

_Maman..._

"Silas! Silas breathe!" came a calm, clear voice. "Silas!"

He sputtered awake, spitting out water, and sat straight up, narrowly avoiding head-butting Madi, who had been sitting above him. Without a second thought, he rolled to his hands and knees and coughed up another load of water, stomach roiling.

"Jesus Christ, Silas, you gave us a scare," Madi said, rubbing his back as he plopped back into a seated position, finished. "You just passed out without warning."

"Ugh," he groaned instead of answering. "Again, Anliu?"

The last time they'd fought, Anliu had drastically miscalculated how long Silas could survive underwater, and it had led to Silas passing out. Upon waking up embarrassed, confused, and waterlogged, he'd vowed never to spar with Anliu again.

"I don't think it was me," Anliu said slowly, his forehead puckered. He was shirtless, and the healer, Keir, was kneeled next to him, healing the wounds Silas had inflicted. "I had you under for about five seconds, you've survived much longer than that. It was like as soon as my water touched you, you just passed out."

"Then you basically tried to inhale the whole thing," Madi joked weakly. His forced smile faded, and he put an arm around Silas, barely flinching at his drenched state. "Seriously, Si, are you alright?"

"Fine," he rasped out. "I just… I think I had a flashback to a memory of when I was kid."

"A flashback?" Anliu asked, surprised. "Have you ever had one before?"

"Not that I know of," Silas answered slowly, drawing his knees up to his chin. "I remembered being really young, and drowning somehow. But then I guess my mom pulled me out at the end, so I was alright."

Madi and Anliu exchanged a glance, the same glance they always did whenever Silas brought up his mom. It spelled concern and worry and pity, and Silas hated seeing it. It made him feel young, like he was still fragile, still something to be sheltered and coddled.

He pulled away from Madi and got unsteadily to his feet, pointedly ignoring both of their attempts to stabilize him. "Listen. I think I've had enough, I'm going to go."

"Silas, wait, do you want to talk about this?" Madi called after him. "I know when it comes to your mom–,"

"I'm fine," he said flatly. "I just need to be _dry _and _alone_ right now."

There was a quiet exchange behind him, and Silas picked up his pace before one of them elected the other to follow him and force him to talk about his feelings. Yuck. The thought didn't appeal to him at all.

Mercifully, they seemed to have decided to give him space, and he managed to make it back to his room without interruption, dripping a steady trail of water all the way.

The memory had been jarring to say the least. Considering Silas went through all the effort never to think about anything concerning his mother, this was a rude awakening. In fact, he'd spent so much time training himself not to think about her, he might as well have asked a memory specialist from Ethotaur to bury the memories of her entirely. He'd considered it, once or twice, but eventually decided he might want the memories later, when it was less painful and he could actually enjoy them.

But then this. This had happened, and now he was so full of _missing her_ that he was brimming over with it.

Fuck this. He didn't want to be alone, his thoughts were getting too loud. As much as he detested the idea, he needed to go seek human company.

Silas changed into dry clothes and stepped into a new pair of shoes. Once, when he was little, he might have gone to Stelle's room and looked for solace. Now… well, that wasn't really an option, was it?

He grabbed his favorite worn hat on his way out and pulled the earflaps down determinedly. He'd just have to make do.

…

"Uh oh, you're in the sulking hat," Faris said dryly as he shuffled into the art studio. "What's happened, Silas?"

He perched on a stool and studied Faris's handiwork. "Nothing, just started spiraling a little. Distract me?"

"Sure." Faris turned to smooth an edge of his latest sculpture. Under the pads of his bare fingers, the edge warped slightly to fit his liking. "Would you like to join me? There's an extra block of glass in the corner."

"You're the artistic one, not me," Silas said, but he hopped down anyway, and walked to the second countertop, beckoning the cube over. It piled sloppily on his work surface, and he frowned at it.

"Doesn't matter, you're just passing time," Faris said gently. "Anyway, you'd be plenty artistic if you worked at it a little instead of roughhousing with Stelle all the time.

He said the latter sentence with an air of unmistakably pompous distaste, and Silas chuckled. "If I didn't _what_ with Stelle all the time?"

"You know, roughhouse. Engage in fisticuffs," Faris said primly.

"Fisticuffs," Silas repeated, amused. He tried valiantly to shape his glass into a face, but only succeeded in making a primitive and decidedly creepy smiley potato. "Why is this actually hard?"

"Mm, I make it look easy," Faris said, smiling. "Here, what exactly are you trying to make?"

Silas swallowed. "Mom."

Faris froze. Glanced up at him carefully. Then he exhaled slowly. "Okay, well start by defining the facial structure, and build the features on top. Mind her nose, make sure it's nice and narrow."

"Like this?"

Faris peered over Silas's shoulder and shook his head. He reached over, and like it was nothing, managed to capture the perfect slope of their mother's nose.

"Thanks."

"Mm hm. So, is she what this is all about?" Faris asked casually, not looking up from his work.

"A little. I just remembered a weird memory from when we were young," Silas said, brow furrowing in concentration as he tried to remember the shape of her mouth. "Do you remember if I ever drowned as a kid?"

"Not really," Faris said, brow furrowing. "I was probably pretty young if it did happen, but I don't remember hearing anything about it. Stelle would probably know, if you asked her."

Silas laughed at that, shaking his head. "Yeah, not happening. I don't need to know that badly."

Faris shrugged. "Suit yourself. So a drowning memory, huh? Anything significant about it?"

"Not really. Just that I was drowning and mom pulled me out." He leaned closer as he tried to capture the shape of his mom's eyes. "It wasn't very long either."

"Did anything trigger it?" Faris asked. "Careful on your creases, by the way, they're a little harsh right now."

Silas obligatorily softened his lines. "Yeah, I was training with Anliu and had a little drowning moment. I guess it triggered something."

Faris grimaced sympathetically. "That must be irritating. Maybe you should ask Dad to call a memory specialist in. I'm sure they could clean it up pretty quick."

"I don't want anyone from Ethotaur poking around my brain. Freaky lot, they are," Silas said archly. "I'd rather just deal with the flashbacks."

Faris sighed and nodded. "I thought you might say that."

Silas just shrugged. Out of all the nations, even Vinterbroste with their unflinching callousness, and Coranzorre with their lewd, gory culture, he distrusted Ethotaur the most. Anyone who lived in caves their whole lives couldn't possibly be all human, and their brands of powers really were the most off-putting. He was rather glad they so rarely came to the surface. If everyday people could simply read his mind all the time, he might never leave the palace.

"How's this?" he said at last, stepping back from his sculpture. "Could be Mom's twin, eh?"

Faris glanced over, and couldn't hide the grimace that stole over his face fast enough, earning a punch from Silas.

"I saw that!"

"No, it's good! It's good," Faris yelped, dancing out of the way of a follow-up smack. "Very abstract!"

"I was going for realism," Silas snapped, glowering down at his artistic attempt. It looked a bit like a grotesque demon, with the exception of the slender and expertly smoothed nose.

"Well… you have other talents," Faris said at last, patting him sympathetically. "Done with your sulk now?"

"Yeah," he admitted, half-smiling. "Thanks. I should probably leave you to your work. What is it anyway?"

Faris glanced back at his sculpture, still an unintelligible mass of glass. "Not sure yet. I'll let you know when I find out."

"I'll look forward to that," Silas said, sliding his hands in his pockets.

Faris bent back over his work, absorbed in it once more, and Silas wandered out of the studio. He carefully shut the door behind him, and turned to walk away, only to come face-to-face with Anliu.

"Hey, I thought you might be here," Anliu said, smiling. "Can I walk with you?"

"Sure," Silas shrugged. "I'm just headed back to my room. What's up?"

"Just wanted to check up on you," Anliu said, shooting Silas a sideways look. "And apologize."

"What for? You won the fight," Silas replied grudgingly. He added in a slightly quieter tone, "Again."

Anliu crossed his arms, eyes pinned on the floor. "No. Not today. Let's call it a draw, alright?"

"It's fine, Anliu, you won, just–,"

"A draw," Anliu said firmly, looking him seriously in the eyes.

Silas pressed his lips together, and then nodded. "Alright. A draw. Maybe we can have a rematch later. I'll try not to pass out next time."  
Anliu lit up with a smile, a rare sight on him. "Well, I'll try to avoid drowning you then."

"Eh. A little drowning never killed anyone," Silas echoed sagely. "Sorry for stabbing you, by the way."

"What's a little stabbing between friends," Anliu said warmly, glancing at him with bright eyes. "A drowning for a stabbing. Now we're even."

"Mm. Just saying, though, I'm pretty sure I was winning when we stopped," Silas said offhandedly.

Anliu tilted his head, squinting. "Well, I don't know if I would _quite_ say that. Pretty sure I had control of the situation."

"Huh, really? Could have sworn I got the jump on you with that back-stabbing trick," Silas said, feigning confusion. "And doesn't glass…weaken…? Oh! That's _right_, it weakens your powers! I'd say I was going to win that fight."

"Well, you didn't know what I had planned next, it was a new special move I was going to pull that would have won the fight for sure," Anliu said, smirking.

"Oh, yeah? What move would that be?"

He snorted. "I can't tell you now, I'm saving it."

"Hm, very convenient," Silas teased.

They continued down the hallway, bickering and passive-aggressively asserting their respective victories. And if Anliu reluctantly allowed Silas to insinuate that he would have won if they'd continued the fight, well, what else were friends for?

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**Alrighty, leave love for me and HEAD'S UP! This is the last week submissions will stay open. You can reserve a spot all week, but once next week's chapter comes out, submissions will be closed.**

**Please go show Haixin, Kaze-han and Blitzerren some love! They're vv lonely and im sad now :((  
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	4. Of Reluctant Deals

**Fast update bc i only have 15 mins haha  
3 POVs lets gooo**

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**Quick content warning: gore, abusive relationships, memories of abusive relationships, violence**

**Treat yourself with kindness, don't read on if you're not at a place where you can handle these concepts ok love u bye**

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_Evana Renshaw, 19, Coranzorre_

"Let! Go! Let go of me, you bastards!" Evana thrashed in the grip of the palace guards, snarling and snapping at them when they got within reach of her mouth. "Where the fuck are you taking me?"

When she didn't get an answer, she thrashed harder. "Hey! Answer me! Where are you–!"

"Shut up," the captain of the guard said coolly, raising a hand.

There was the unmistakably wrong sensation of the flesh on her body rippling as his magic glazed over her, and she recoiled, shuddering. The captain leered down at her, as she shrank away from the feeling, and signalled for them to keep walking.

She made a last-ditch attempt to dig her heels into the plush carpet, but the guard leading her yanked on the chain linked to the iron collar around her throat, and she was forced to stumble after him, coughing. She tried to ask again where they were going, but no words escaped her hoarse throat, so she gave up.

The empty palace halls were eerily quiet as she was frog-marched through them. Only the sound of the jingle of the buckles on the guard's uniforms broke the stared at the unit of guards surrounding her with resentment. The shine of their glossy black boots and clubs at their sides caught the light, every pleat in their burgundy coats immaculate. Even their haircuts were uniform, never a hair out of place.

Evana must have been a sight to see among them, all wild curls and the same old clothes she'd been wearing when she was detained three days ago. Her once sleek red dress had been torn in her struggles, and one of the straps was ripped. Her stilettos had been confiscated too, so she walked barefoot, feet sinking into the thick carpet. Bruises littered her arms and chest, while the gash across her knee had only just begun to scab over.

"Wait a moment," she spoke up in a rasp as they turned into a familiar hallway. "Are we going to the thr–?"

"The throne room," the captain said impassively, barely sparing her a glance.

"The throne–hang on," she protested. "What happened to a trial? What happened to my goddamn rights? Why am I going to the throne room? What's happening?"

"The primor wants to speak with you, apparently," the captain answered with a curled lip. He glanced at her, eyes sharp with disgust. "Can't imagine why."

Her mind raced with this new information. The primor wanted to see her? Was he going to sentence her himself? Or perhaps… She'd heard rumors of assassins being given pardons in exchange for eliminating political enemies. But then again, maybe she shouldn't get her hopes up. She was just as likely to enter this room and come out of it in a body bag.

They came upon the massive gilded double doors, and stopped so the footmen flanking it could push them open.

"Presenting Evana Renshaw, alias Bloodlust," the captain of the guard announced as he strode forward.

A hand appeared on the back of her neck, forcing her into a bow before she could react. She tried to force it away, but it stayed firm.

The primor looked the same as he did the last time they'd seen each other, eye contact on a rooftop as Evana nearly succeeded in putting a bullet through his eldest son's skull. His face was frozen somewhere in a youth long since passed, the same vague age he'd been two years ago, and probably twenty years before that. The uncanny valley in his handsome features made her nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Bloodlust," he said with a slow, stilted smile. "We meet again."

"Hi, Manolo," she greeted coldly. "This was a bit much, don't you think? If you wanted to see me again, you could have just asked to meet up somewhere. We could be having this talk over wine and dinner. But you decided to take that extra mile."

"Apologies, Renshaw," the primor said, head tilting. "Safety precautions, you understand. Not to mention, you are a difficult person to pin down."

"You'll have to forgive me for that," she said, eyes narrowed. "But this is almost exactly what I was hoping to avoid. How did you know I was going to be at the gala?"

"Simple," Primor Brasa-Lascaris said, with an elegant shrug. "Captain Costalez there was the one who hired you to kill the ambassador."

Evana's gaze snapped to the captain, trying to identify his face with her employer. His face was almost completely different, but that didn't mean much in a nation of flesh-shapers.

"You were Henry deLeon?" she asked slowly, her temper simmering. "You hired me to kill the ambassador at the gala?"

"I did," he agreed, and now that she was listening for it, his voice had the same faint northern accent Henry deLeon had when he hired her two weeks ago in a sketchy dive bar.

Her blood boiled in her veins, just shy of literally. More than anything, she hated being deceived; she hated when someone figured out how to pull one over her. It had been a long time since she'd been so careless, and now it was costing her dearly.

"So what?" She spat, all pretense of civility gone. "You tricked me and caught me. Now what do you want? To kill me?"

The primor sighed. "Actually, no."

"Then what, Malo? You need someone to disappear?" she asked, words dripping with acid. Her smile turned sardonic and cruel. "I can get rid of that wife, if you're in want of a newer one."

"That's 'Your Grace' to you," he corrected sharply, eyes going cold. "And that is not why i require your services. In a month's time, the Crown Prince of Hyalus will be holding a competition to find a wife, the future queen."

"You want me to off him?" Evana guessed. "No, wait, you want the other nation's girls to die so your pick can succeed. Fine. Done. Both, if you let me walk."

"None of the above," the primor said. "I want you to compete as one of my picks."

Silence rang out as the words processed. She blinked.

"You're joking." She stared at him. "Tell me you're joking right now."

Primor Brasa-Lascaris shook his head. "You may be a criminal and a murderer, but you are one of our best. I have hundreds of warriors I could send, but your unique mastery of our art makes you a standout. We need those that excel in their craft to represent Coranzorre."

"You don't want me," Evana said, brow knitting. "I'm a killer. I grew up on the street. I don't fall in love. Pick someone else."

"You are just what I need," the primor corrected. "You have a different philosophy, and different way of living that will do well in the competition. I want you to fight dirty and win for your nation."

"My nation?" Evana laughed mirthlessly. "My nation never did a goddamn thing for me! And now you want me to represent it in front of the whole empire?"

"Well," Primor Brasa-Lascaris said, voice going cold. "It's either that, or pay a visit to Baron Samedi down in the underworld."

The invocation of the name of the guardian of death made shivers travel down Evana's spine. She wasn't as superstitious as many of the citizens of Coranzorre, but hearing the name didn't exactly give her the warm-fuzzies.

"So that's it, then? Go participate in this competition with the prince, or die?" She demanded.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. "It's your decision, Renshaw. Choose wisely."

"And what if I don't succeed in the competition?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You will," the primor said, empty smile never faltering. "Or suffer consequences."

Evana ran the tip of her tongue along her teeth. It wasn't much of a choice. This competition was the only way she'd prolong her life. Perhaps she could even escape while she was there and hide out in Blitzerren for a while, or something.

The fate of staying here and most likely letting Captain Costalez melt the flesh from her bones wasn't in the question. Against all odds, she'd survived this long, and by god, she wasn't looking to stop today. This was what she did: do whatever she had to in order to keep going another day.

"Alright, Manolo," she said, staring him down. "I accept your deal. I'll fight for Coranzorre and win this competition."

His molded lips stretched into a shark-like smile, and Evana resigned herself to her fate. If this was what she had to do, then so be it.

...

_Ophelia Finch, 20, Lumetierre_

"Lia, dove, I need a moment with you!" The slam of the door as Santino blasted through it made Ophelia jump in her chair, and she barely managed to keep from gasping aloud.

"Yes?" She asked, trying to keep her voice even. She didn't turn to look at him, instead making eye contact with him in the mirror, so as not to disturb the makeup artist working on her face. "What is it?"

"You're dismissed," Santino told the makeup girl, ignoring Ophelia entirely. "You can come back when we're done."

The girl's face fell. "Oh, but there's only five minutes until she goes on, so if I could just–,"

"I'm sorry, did I not make myself clear? You're. Dismissed," Santino said, carefully quiet. His eyes were full of familiar black rage that made Ophelia stiffen like a board in her seat, eyes straight ahead.

"Y–yes, sorry, sorry Mr. Luz, I u-unders-stand," the girl babbled out, scooping up her things and backing out. "I–yes. Sorry. Sorry."

The door closed a little too hard behind her, but Ophelia forced her panicked instinct down. Her heart was picking up speed as she carefully monitored Santino's face in the mirror.

"God, the help really doesn't know their place these days," Santino said with an airy laugh. He grinned at Ophelia like they were sharing a joke. "Everyone thinks they know best, am I right?"

She smiled in agreement as he came closer.

"But _I'm_ your manager. Aren't you lucky? And speaking of, Lia, I have some news," Santino said, hands resting on her shoulders. They were cold against her exposed skin, and goosebumps broke out on her arms. "I've just received an offer about you."

"You did?" She tried not to sound as dismayed as she felt. Her schedule lately had been insane, yielding her about three hours of sleep a night. She couldn't imagine how she could possibly fit in more things to do.

"I did," he agreed. His hands came up to stroke her hair, and arrange it over her left shoulder. She tried not to flinch at the graze of his touch across her neck. "There's going to be a little event at the palace in a month, and Primor Torrid wants you to attend."

"A performance? Is it a full concert, or just–,"

"Quiet, Ophelia," Santino said sharply, pulling just a little too hard on her hair and making her cringe. "Let me finish, dove. There's going to be a Selection for Prince Silas. You remember him, don't you? You met a while back."

"I remember," she agreed. "The Primor wants me to compete?"

"Exactly. Smart girl," Santino said with a smile. "I think it's a good opportunity to put you in the global spotlight. You can do a little competing, get your face in the newspapers, and then you drop out. Easy publicity."

Another publicity stunt. She sighed internally. The last stunt Santino had decided to pull had been an orchestrated relationship with a popular male singer that had resulted in all his fangirls attacking her. She was still dealing with the repercussions of that one, and this one didn't leave a good taste in her mouth either.

"You'll leave in a few weeks for that, and it'll last a couple months," Santino said. "So we'll cancel all the concerts in Prithvi."

"But it's the first time we've ever had tour dates in Prithvi," Ophelia mumbled, staring at her hands. "I was really looking forward to it, and the fans will be so upset."

"Oh, Lia." He laughed lightly, squeezing her shoulders. "Such a good heart. Who cares about a few fans in Prithvi? This is your chance to become a huge superstar, a name in singing history."

"Right," she said, wilting. Right, this was for her career. Sacrifices had to be made. There were always sacrifices to be made.

"Cheer up, dovey, this is a good thing," Santino said reassuringly. His eyes drifted down in the mirror, and he frowned. His tone shifted. "Did I approve that top for tonight?"

She looked down at the shirt she was wearing, caught off guard. "What? Oh, well, no, but the other one was too big so I figured I could just wear this one, it's–,"

"You know the rules, Ophelia," he said sternly, face clouding with darkness. "Always consult me with these things, I know best."

He checked his watch and clucked his tongue in annoyance. "You don't have time to change, it'll have to do. But for god's sake, at least–," Before she could react, he yanked her neckline down, exposing cleavage. "There we go. Alright. That'll do."

Ophelia flinched backward, instinctively covering the exposed skin. As soon as she'd done it, she knew it was the wrong thing to do, and the way his eyes darkened confirmed it.

"Young lady, I'm your father," he snapped. "I don't want to see you reacting that way towards me again. Do you think I'd do something like that to you? Is that what you think of me, Ophelia?"

"No, no, I don't, I was just surprised," she said quickly, heart pounding. "I know you would never hurt me, Santino."

"Hm." His face softened. "Good. Don't forget it. I may be your manager, but I'm your father first. I'm always going to protect you from everything. I'm the only one you can trust."

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

"I love you, kiddo," he said, pulling her into a hug that crushed her against him. "Now, go show them what a superstar you are!"

"Love you too," she said numbly, and then hurried out of the dressing room.

In the brief moment that they'd hugged, she'd taken a reading just as she did every day. Every time she did, she hoped his potential for light would change, hoped she'd find the knowledge that her adoptive father was as good and noble as he wanted her to believe. As she wanted to believe.

But everyday since the first time he'd backhanded her so hard her teeth rattled, she'd found the same results. No matter how much she tried to will it to change, every time she did a reading, she was greeted by more darkness than she'd ever seen. Behind his perfectly Touched face and blinding smile, lay an unending void of darkness that filled her up, like oily tar. It made her sick to feel his capacity for darkness against her magic, but that never stopped her from taking the reading.

_One day, _she convinced herself as she stepped out onto the stage to a sea of roaring fans. _One day it will change. It will._

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_Min-hye Noe, 20, Coranzorre_

Min-hye sighed as she finally succeeded in shooing the last of the people out of the library. For some reason, they seemed to struggle with the concept that the library wasn't a hotel, and they couldn't stay here all night. No matter how many times she reminded them of the closing hours, they always acted surprised when she had to kick them out.

She locked the front doors and flipped the sign from 'open' to 'closed', and then headed to the back room. There was a book on healing on her desk calling her name. She was one hundred percent she was finally getting close to being able to heal burns, which had proved to be much harder than the minor cuts she'd mastered last month.

Lost in her thoughts, she wandered towards the back room with none of her normal cautiousness. She'd been working on training herself out the instinct for paranoia ingrained in her, which would have been a win on any day except this one.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she reached the door, and she froze, hand still on the doorknob.

That was the feeling that meant–

No. No way. There was no way that was true, her body must have been lying to her. There's no way that–

She whirled around, purely on instinct, just in time to come face to face with the gleaming point of a blade.

"Hey, sister dearest," came a familiar voice. "Sorry to intrude."

Min-hye threw herself flat against the door to get out of stabbing range, and darted to the side to back herself against a corner. Her hands rose naturally, a practice she'd had drilled into her body for years and years, but the moment her magic twitched to life, she stopped it. No. She wasn't going to use her magic against people anymore.

Her hands dropped slowly, even if her heart rate refused to.

Her attacker's face fell, crestfallen. "Ugh, really? I actually thought you might actually attack me for a second. But you're still so pathetic."

Min-hwa looked as beautiful as she ever did, perhaps even more so. Her beauty was just as terrifying as it was in Min-hye's nightmares, with the same narrow-eyed stare and inscrutable smile that was branded in her brain. That smile never wavered, not even when she was watching the light fade from someone's eyes. It made Min-hye's stomach turn to see it again, and every instinct screamed at her to run.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, willing her voice not to shake.

Min-hwa smiled, slow and predatory, and leaned against the desk. _Min-hye's_ desk. Her silver blade danced through the air as she twirled it idly. "Can't sisters visit each other every once and a while, bun bun?"

"Don't call me that," Min-hye snarled, the words coming out without thinking.

"Why not?" Min-hwa asked smugly, eyebrows raised. "You're so soft and weak like a bunny, it fits. Besides, it's not like you're going to stop me. _Are you?_"

It was a dare, designed to bait her into attacking. Instead of falling for it, she took a deep breath to settle her nerves and tucked her hands behind her back.

"No, I'm not," she said, steely firm. "So what do you want, Min-hwa? Did Mom send you to get rid of me?"

"Unfortunately, no." Min-hwa's eyes narrowed. "I've been sent to tell you about the Selection you're attending next month."

She reeled. "The what?"

"Seems as though the crown prince is having a competition to find his wife," Min-hwa said offhandedly. "Coranzorre needs to send three representatives, and Mom advised you."

"Me? You're her favorite, why doesn't she send you?" Min-hye said, crossing her arms defensively. "I thought the disowning made it pretty clear she didn't want to have anything to do with me."

Her sister's face darkened. "Believe me, I wish they had picked me. But apparently I 'don't fit the position'. Something about not being soft enough. They don't think the prince could love me."

"Probably because you're a total psychopath," Min-hye mumbled.

"Probably," Min-hwa agreed with a smile that showed too many teeth. "But it pays to be a psychopath, bun bun. How many houses do you own again, Min-hye?"

"Is that all you came to say?" she asks tersely instead of answering. "Are you done?"

"That's all," Min-hwa said, tossing her knife into the air and catching it lazily. "And hey, I heard they got Bloodlust to be one of the other representatives. Don't let her outshine you."

"Bloodlust is your nemesis, isn't she, _Wraith_?" Min-hye said, her words dripping with acid at her sister's title. "Don't ask me to resolve your dirty laundry."

"My nemesis or not, you can't let the family down, _Spectre_," Min-hwa sneered, lip curling when Min-hye flinched. "And you _are_ Spectre again, by the way, whether you like it or not. Your job is going to be to go in there and prove you're the best. You're going to have to train and fight again."

"I don't have to do anything," Min-hye said lowly. "You and Mom don't get to control me anymore."

"Oh, don't we?" In a flash, there was a blade against her throat, and the full weight of Min-hwa's body slammed her against the wall. Her eyes were pitch-black, even up close, and they gleamed brightly.

Min-hye's magic was in her hands in a second, but once again, she stopped herself just before she lashed out. She didn't want that, and Min-hwa wasn't going to kill her, not when their mother needed her.

That was the logical part of Min-hye's brain speaking. The rest of her body was effectively going into panic mode at the proximity and danger of the situation. Her chest heaved with terrified breaths, and she leaned as far away from her sister as possible.

"You remember, don't you?" Min-hwa crooned, burning stare never leaving her face. "The last time? I can tell you do. The way your flesh warped. The way that pretty little face crumpled."

The carefully restrained memories slammed into her like a torrent, overwhelming her in a second. The bird's neck in her hand, so fragile. The way she'd tried to will herself to squeeze, and how she'd failed. The disgust in her mother's eyes. And then the crunch as Min-hwa snapped the bird's neck like it was nothing.

Her mother's ruby-painted lips as she spoke the fateful command: _Do as you wish, Min-hwa. Teach your sister a lesson._

"Stop," Min-hye gasped out, tears burning in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice echoed simultaneously with that night, her mind split between two moments. "Stop, please, stop it."

Min-hwa scoffed, letting up off her sister. "Just as I thought. You're as weak as you've always been. I don't know what mother was thinking to choose you over me."

Min-hye couldn't even find anything snappy to say, hollowed out with the onslaught of memories the moment had triggered.

"If you fail, you know there will be consequences," Min-hwa said, sheathing her dagger. Her smile widened. "Let me assure you, I've become much more creative since the last time Mom let us play together."

"I won't. I won't fail," Min-hye said hoarsely, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Oh, bun bun." Min-hwa's head tilted in fake sympathy. "You don't have a _choice_."

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**Okay, 3 pretty heavy POVs, but let me know what you think. **

**Also: SUBMISSIONS ARE OFFICIALLY CLOSED! Those with reservations can keep working on their forms, but I am not accepting any new submissions or reservations, thank you for your understanding. **

**Sorry to be brief, I'm on a time crunch haha. See you next week!**


	5. Crossing the Threshold

**Thanks for being patient yall! Now strap in for a hefty chapter kids, this is a 6.7k chapter eek**

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_Ember Kravar, 23, Mortefierro_

The crowd roared encouragement around Ember as she raised her fists despite every instinct begging her to lie down and take deep breaths. Her opponent, was in just as bad shape, visibly swaying in her place. It was Round 3 of their match, and it had become more of a test of endurance than anything else.

The shrill tweet of the whistle marked the start, and they circled each other warily. The punch she'd taken to her nose was pulsing acutely, making it hard for her to focus on the fight, rather than the brutal pain radiating from the center of her face. Raja, the other fighter, had taken a particularly nice hit from Ember to the jaw, and been knocked clean out during Round 2, which seemed to manifest itself now in the way she seemed unable to focus her eyes. Ember probably looked like nothing more than blurry figure to her at this point.

"C'mon, finish her off, Phoenix!" came a bellow from the crowd, to screams of approval from the other onlookers.

She grinned around her mouthguard. He was right. It was time to end things. Ember rolled back her shoulders, clenched her fists, and then darted in to begin her final attack.

Raja sloppily blocked her initial punch, which she'd made intentionally obvious to cover for the lightning fast kick to the ribs that followed that. The kick made beautiful contact with an audible crunch of impact, and Raja went staggering to the side to a soundtrack of vicious shouts from the crowd.

In an impressive show of willpower, she managed to pull herself together long enough to dodge the jabs Ember threw, and even block a right hook. Unfortunately for her, she wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the follow-up uppercut, and went stumbling back. She regained her balance to some degree, but she was swaying in place.

The other girl was clearly in no condition to continue fighting, but she raised her trembling fists as Ember approached. In an obvious final rush tactic, she threw herself at Ember, swinging wide from the left.

Ember easily dodged the hit, and used the wasted momentum to plant another kick that sent Raja into a heap on the floor. She didn't move for a moment, and Ember's heart leapt into her throat. Was this the end?

"Three!" the crowd roared along with the ref.

Raja was barely stirring, clearly trying to muster the strength to get up. She tried to prop herself up, but her arms shook and gave out from underneath her.

"Two!"

Some part of Ember was cheering her on, begging her to get back up. _C'mon,_ she thought fiercely, _c'mon, you can do it. Get up, Raja._

"One!" The tweet of the whistle sliced through the air, officially marking the end.

The crowd went wild as Raja failed to get off the floor, and in doing so, had lost. Ember spat out her mouthguard to grin at the audience, pumping her fists victoriously.

"Yeah!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, raising the energy level even higher.

"Phoenix is the winner!" The ref was yelling from beside her. "She will now receive a five thousand dollar cash prize!"

Five thousand dollars, now _that _was music to her ears. She drank up her victory, beaming uncontrollably at the surrounding people and posing cheesily for them.

"Alright, Phoenix, that's enough, dontcha think?" The familiar dry drawl came into earshot, and she turned. Her cousin stood at the edge of the ring, hands on his hips, with raised eyebrows.

"Didja see me out there?" She said eagerly, bounding over and giving him a bear hug that he accepted with a chuckle. "Holy shit, I owned that! She went out like a light!"

"I saw indeed," he said, mouth twisting into a smirk. "I also watched you crack that poor girl's ribs. I hope she knows a good healer."

"You should go over there and offer," Ember said off-handedly, waving goodbye to her fans as Pyrrhos led her out of the ring. "Charge her like fifty bucks."

"What sort of scam would we be running then?" Pyrrhos asked, laughing. "You crack her ribs and then I charge her fifty bucks to heal them?"

"Eh, she shoulda known what she signed up for when she decided to go into cage fighting. Especially against me," Ember added with a wolfish grin.

They went through the double doors that led to a quiet hallway, and the sounds of the people outside died down. They stepped into one of the locker rooms, and Ember laid down on one of the benches so Pyrrhos could do his work.

"Let's see how bad it is," Pyrrhos mused to himself, hands grazing briskly across his skin, from her face, down her arms, abdomen, and legs. "Hm… your nose is only a little fractured, I can fix this up pretty quick. Bruises… a few cuts… oh, yep, just as I thought. Torn ligaments in your left hand and a little bit of a fracture in your shin, obviously. But I addressed that a bit already."

"Well, whatever you did to my shin before round 3 worked, I barely felt it," Ember said, lying still while Pyrrhos's magic spilled across her skin, the sensation hot and liquid.

"Mm, good," he muttered distractedly. "I've been working on my numbing technique. Now quiet while I'm working, unless you want your nose to end up crooked."

She held very still as his fingers prodded at her face, pushing and shaping the cartilage back into order. Luckily, Ember was fairly accustomed to the sensation, and it didn't hurt as much as it used to.

A knock sounded at the door, and both cousins looked to the door, confused. Ember propped herself up on her elbows and exchanged a glance with Pyrrhos.

"Are you expecting anyone?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Maybe it's the prize money?" she offered, just as perplexed. Usually with these types of things, they'd send the prize in the mail a week or two later. She raised her voice to announce, "Come in!"

The door swung open to reveal a short man with an irate expression, wearing an exceptionally well-tailored suit. His shoes clicked sharply on the ground as he entered, and Ember eyed him warily.

"You're Ember Kravar? The winner of the competition?" he asked in a nasally voice.

"That's me," she agreed, sitting up. "Is this about my prize?"

"Indeed it is. We need to have a chat about it," the man said. "I'm Gable Corneel, I'm the one who organized this competition."

Pyrrhos cleared his throat, and Ember could detect a note of irritation in his voice. "Is this urgent, Mr. Corneel? I'm her healer, and I'd prefer to finish my work before she discusses anything."

Gable looked Pyrrhos up and down and his lip curled. "I wasn't speaking to you, _Razzi_."

"Hey," Ember barked sharply, bristling at the use of the slur. "Watch what you say, mister. That's my cousin."

The man rolled his eyes long-sufferingly. "Terribly sorry about that. Now, if we could discuss your prize."

"What's there to discuss?" Ember asked suspiciously. "I was promised five thousand dollars, and I expect five thousand dollars."

Gable pursed his lips, and his eyes darted to Pyrrhos at her shoulder.

"Perhaps you should send your healer out for this, it's a confidential discussion," he said delicately.

"Pyrrhos stays," Ember said, her tone steely. "And I'll ask you kindly to hurry this up."

Gable pressed his lips together but nodded stiffly. "I'll be straightforward–I'm an agent of the king, and I orchestrated this fight to find a representative for Mortefierro in the upcoming Selection."

There was a pause as they processed that. Ember blinked.

"Whoa, wait, what?" she said, head spinning with the information. "You're an agent of the crown, and _what?_"

Gable re-explained himself tersely.

"What's a Selection?" she asked, scowling. "Some kinda tournament?"

"Of a sort. It's a competition to compete for the hand of a royal. Crown Prince Silas is having one in Verelys very soon," Gable said. "The king would like you to be one of the three representatives in it."

"What do I do?" Ember asked, frowning. "Fight people?"

"Yes, that would be the idea," Gable said archly.

"And do I get my prize money?"

"Rest assured, you will be well-imbursed," he said impatiently. "Do you accept?"

Ember thought about for a long moment. On the one hand, stepping into a world of politics and royals was way out of her comfort zone; she had no idea where to even begin with that. She was a fighter not a talker. On the other hand, she liked the sound of "well-imbursed". Not to mention, there was no real reason why she shouldn't. This might be a once in a lifetime opportunity, for better or worse.

Ember knew what she had to do. She took a deep breath, looked Gable in the eyes and told him what she knew in her heart was the right choice:

"Nah."

He blinked.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm, like, vastly under-qualified to do that," she told him cheerfully. "I'll just take my five thousand and go. Have fun trying to find someone else though, good luck."

"M-Miss Kravar!" Gable sputtered, going red. "Do you understand the chance you are rejecting? This is an invitation from the primor himself to meet the prince and compete among the elite! This is your opportunity to become queen of Hyalus!"

"No, yeah, I totally get it. That's just not my game," Ember said, shrugging. "It was cool talking to you, though. I'll expect my money in the next two weeks."

Gable gaped like a fish on land while Pyrrhos coughed awkwardly, poorly concealing a laugh.

"Are we done here?" She asked. "You're welcome to leave any time, Mr. Corneel."

"Miss Kravar, I'm going to have to insist that you participate in the Selection," Gable snapped, puffing up his chest. "In fact, I command you to! By order of the primor!"

It was Ember's turn to gape. "Hang on, you can't possibly be allowed to–,"

"We will be in contact with you shortly," Gable spat, getting to his feet in a huff. "Congratulations on your victory, Miss Kravar! I'm sure you're _very _proud!"

The door slammed behind him, leaving them in echoing silence.

"You know, that wasn't quite how I expected that to go," she said after a thoughtful pause.

Pyrrhos didn't respond for a moment, and she glanced over to see his expression. Her cousin's face, split in a grin, was almost totally red. He was wheezing silently with mirth to himself, and Ember, seeing it, started to laugh too.

"What?" she asked between giggles. "Why are you laughing?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, still shaking with the force of his laughter, and shook his head.

"I don't know," he gasped out. "I can't–his face when you–,"

They both collapsed into laughter, snickering like school children until their stomachs hurt. Ember wiped tears from her eyes, and clapped Pyrrhos on the shoulder.

"Well, I guess I'm in the Selection now," she said, once they'd both recovered. "What do you know?"

"You're really going to let them force you into doing this?" Pyrrhos asked, eyebrows raised. "That's not the Ember I know."

"What am I going to do, fight the whole Mortefierren army?" Ember snorted. "I don't exactly have other options, cuz. Might beat ol' Gable up later for calling you a Razzi, though."

"Don't do that," Pyrrhos said, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. "I appreciate the sentiment, but that would be an incredibly bad idea. Now, enough with the fighting, let me fix your nose before it freezes that way."

She layed back down, interlocking her hands over her stomach. As Pyrrhos's magic spread back over her face, her mind wandered.

"Pyr, you godda watch oud for Ag'di while I'mb gone," she said thickly through the numbing magic.

"I will, Ember. Anyway, Agni's a grown man now, he can handle himself," Pyrrhos said.

"I know. Bud I'mb his big sister, I'mb always gonna try to look oud for himb." She let out a long breath through her mouth and closed her eyes. They lapsed into silence.

"Pyr."

"Yes?"

"You godda look oud for Garlic while I'mb gone too."

His face twisted with confusion. "Who on earth is Garlic?"

Ember gasped. "Garlic? The love of my life? My best frien'd?"

He stared at her for a long moment, the gears in his head turning. When he finally understood, he let out a long groan.

"You're not talking about that demon fish are you? Tell me you aren't," he said, moving to heal the ligaments in her hand.

"Garlic is an angel," Ember replied indignantly. She crinkled her nose, testing her control as the feeling came back into her face.

"It hates me! It tries to bite me every time it sees me!"

"He's a fish!" she argued. "How would he even do that, he doesn't have teeth. Anyway you could heal that, easy!"

"It's not about the bite, it's about the loathing of the devil he holds in his tiny, scaly body," Pyrrhos snapped. "And he does too have teeth! How do you think betas literally kill each other if you leave them alone together!"

Ember guffawed. "True. That's why I got Garlic in the first place."

Pyrrhos stared at her with unmasked horror. "You sicced Garlic on another fish?"

"What? No!" she protested, shocked. "I just like knowing he has bloodthirsty _potential_."

"Sometimes I can't believe we're related," Pyrrhos sighed. "Yes, I'll look after the damn fish while you're gone."

"Thanks." She giggled, suddenly overwhelmed with amusement at the whole situation. "The Selection. God. What is my life."

"About to get a lot more complicated," Pyrrhos warned. "Better strap in, kid."

...

_Anastasia Hildekant, 22, Vinterbroste_

Anastasia was breathing heavily as she picked her way through the steep, rocky path. She was careful to avoid the patches of slick ice glazing the ground, making sure the soles of her boots gripped the ground securely. Her eyes stayed trained on the path, her mind blank as she focused on the rhythmic contact of her shoes with the dirt.

The brisk wind snapped and whirled around her as she finally reached the summit, and slowed her pace. The cold air stung her nose a little as she tried to regain her breath, but she ignored it, licking her chapped lips.

Her steps crunched in the ever-present snow as she approached the three marble stones standing tall against the wind whipping around them. She stopped at the closest stone, and sank to her knees, carefully arranging herself in a sitting position.

Her hand trembled only slightly as she reached out to smooth her hand over the cold surface of the rock. There was a fine layer of frost over it that crumbled where her touch disrupted it.

"Good morning," she greeted softly, her voice rasping a little. She cleared her throat, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, and tried again. "Good morning, Mother."

Anastasia paused, trying to sense any sort of response from the environment around her, but just felt more alone than ever. Sighing, she abandoned her strict posture to draw her knees up to her chin, feeling suddenly like she was ten again.

"I know it's been a while," Anastasia said quietly. She paused, trying to choose her words. "I hope you aren't upset. I came to say goodbye before I go off to Verelys to compete in the Selection."

She traced a spiral in the snow, dwelling in the thought for a moment.

"I'll try to make you proud," she said, smiling very slightly. "I don't really know what to expect, honestly. All I've heard is that I'm to represent Vinterbroste in winning the Prince's hand. A strange notion, right? You'd say it was all silliness."

_Really, it is,_ a voice said warmly, making her smile brighten. _Your father's idea, wasn't it? Oh, Dimitri. Such a silly choice. You have better things to do._

"Do I?" Anastasia asked, amused. "Such as? Raise the children?"

_I don't know, Anu, but surely there must be something you want to do besides… whatever this is, _Kayva said with a smirking tone.

"I do want to do this," she insisted, glancing down. "I want to do what makes Father happy."

_Are you sure? You are your own person, love, and that's not a crime_, Kavya reminded her.

"You don't need to worry about me," Anastasia said firmly. "I'm sure of what I'm doing."

_One day, darling, you're going to have to stop giving pieces of yourself away. Before you run out of self to give. _

"Maybe so. But that day is not today," Anastasia replied, hands bunching in the fabric of her skirt. "I still have time."

The wind howled around her, giving no answer, and her shoulders slumped. She inhaled slowly, letting her hands uncurl, taking a moment just to drink it all in. Then she let out all the air at once, and got to her feet, dusting herself off.

"Goodbye, Mother," she said, pressing her lips together. "I guess I'll see you on the other side."

Anastasia looked to the other two graves, and walked to the other side of the third one. From within her pocket, she retrieved a smooth white stone, about the side of her palm, and placed it in the snow. It seemed to disappear almost immediately in the sparkling snow, but she stood there for a long moment staring at it.

Then, abruptly, she turned to dip a little curtsy to the two other graves. before turning on her heel, and beginning her descent. The wind became thick with flurries of snow as she hiked down, her steps heavy.

As she made her way down the winding route, the Hildekant castle loomed ever larger. She squared her shoulders as she reached the backdoor, and prepared to enter.

_Back into the lion's den_, she thought resignedly.

The warmth of the kitchen swelled over her as she opened the door and stepped in. The staff, accustomed to watching her go in and out, barely spared her a glance. She crossed the room, ignoring the chefs she cut off as they tried to maneuver around. When she exited the kitchen, into the hallway, the concentrated heat dissipated, and that empty cold seeped back into her skin.

"Anastasia! Anastasia, there you are!" Victor yelled as he jogged over, sapphire eyes alight. "Vera thought you left without saying goodbye, nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I did not!" Vera complained, right on her twin's heels. "I just said _maybe_ that was what happened! I know you wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

She locked eyes with Anastasia, and as the realization crashed over her, she blushed. She came up short, nearly skidding on the royal floors, and rushed to straighten out the bunches out of her skirt. Self-consciously smoothing her hair, she cleared her throat.

"Right, right," Vera mumbled. She took a breath, drawing herself up, and then nodded calmly to her half-sister, a stiff picture of elegance. "Hello, Anastasia. I see you've returned from your excursion."

"Good morning, Vera," she responded with a practiced smile. "And good morning, Victor. You've come to see me off?"

"Course!" Victor agreed brightly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Are you packed? Do you even know what you're gonna need? When are you leaving?"

"Shush, Vic!" Vera hissed, elbowing him. "Stop asking so many questions, she can't get a word in edgewise!"

He bristled. "Stop telling me what to do, you–!"

"It's alright, Vera," Anastasia said placatingly, taking each of their hands in hers and leading them down the hall. "I'm nearly packed, but you two can help me finish up."

"Aw, don't you have maids for that?" Victor complained, but fell silent at a raised eyebrow from her.

"I just want an extra moment with you two, Victor," Anastasia said, chiding. "Is that too much to ask?"

"No," he replied bashfully, ducking his head. "Sorry."

"Anyway, where is Sir Isak? Aren't you two supposed to be in lessons?" She asked, brow furrowing.

"Old 'Sak let us go because you're leaving," Victor explained with a pleased grin. "You should have seen it! I just got a little teary-eyed about missing you, and he melted like butter!"

"Proud of yourself, are you?" Anastasia asked, amused. "Deception isn't the mark of a good prince, Victor."

"I know, but it wasn't _really_ a deception. I will miss you," Victor said, in a rare show of sincerity. His face flushed red when he realized what he'd said. "I mean, sort of anyway. Won't cry about it, or anything."

"I'll miss you, too," Vera chimed in earnestly. "I promise to look after things while you're gone."

"Well, then I won't worry too much," Anastasia said fondly, squeezing Vera's hand. The younger girl lit up and beamed back at her.

They reached Anastasia's room, and she let go of Victor's hand to open the door.

"Rama, off the bed," she commanded as they went in. The old dog peered at her, unimpressed, and went back to sleep.

"Aw, don't give him a hard time," Victor said, scratching him behind the ears. "You're just a big sleepy baby, aren't you, Rama? Aren't you, Rama?"

He dissolved into delighted cooing, and Anastasia and Vera exchanged an amused glance.

"Come on," Anastasia said to her half-sister with a smile. "Leave him be. You can help me pick something to wear on the train."

"You're taking a train?" Vera asked, nose scrunched. "Do you have to?"

"Afraid so. The journey's too far to Vere to go by carriage," Anastasia said, grimacing. "But the engineers in Alunde have been working very hard, I'm sure the train will be just fine."

"I don't like it," Vera said, wrinkling her nose as she opened the wardrobe. "Mother says not to trust anything the Alundish make. There's no magic in it, it's all just lifeless machines."

It was nearly ironic, she thought to herself, that Valeriya would say that. Ironic, since she might be the most machine-like person Anastasia had ever encountered, magic notwithstanding.

"Your mother can have her opinions as she wishes," Anastasia replied simply. "Take care to have your own mind."

A short sentence, but the impact of them made Vera's eyes gleam, and she could see the younger girl had taken the words to heart.

"What about this one?" She asked for a change of subject, pulling a modest black dress out.

"Not that one," Vera said, shaking her head. "That's too formal. I like this one."

She pulled out a jet black coat that buttoned to the throat and cinched at the waist with a black belt. The structured silhouette, with the angular shoulders and flared sleeves, reminded Anastasia a little of a bat, but she didn't dislike the comparison. Against her ivory skin and moon-white hair, she'd look almost out of this world.

"It will be a strong impression I make," she said carefully, looking to Vera. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Vera said gravely. "You ought to make an impression, you're representing us all."

Anastasia smiled and accepted the coat. "If you're sure then."

There was a warm pride in her chest at the fierce certainty in the young girl's eyes. Vera had grown up well, and Anastasia was pleased with the role she'd played in her half-sister's upbringing. She still had room to grow; after all, she and Victor were only twelve, but already she was displaying traits of independence, sagacity, and pragmatism. She'd make a good leader when she was older.

Vera pulled out black, fitted pants, glossy boots, and a pair of leather gloves to complete the onyx ensemble. The gloves were a can't-miss in every diplomatic venture House Hildekant went on, in order to spare foreigners their characteristic icy touch.

Anastasia stepped into the bathroom to quickly change, and glanced in the mirror when she was done. She had been correct; her albinism made her stand out against the clothes, turning her into a monochrome figure, almost like a piece of art. She blinked her snowy eyelashes, staring at herself in the mirror. She looked unreal. Beautiful, but...untouchable. Like there was something about her that wasn't quite human. Did she like it? Well, she couldn't quite say. It would certainly contribute to Vinterbroste's distant, icy image.

Vera's face lit up when Anastasia stepped out, and her eyes sparkled, but she seemed to catch herself on the verge of exploding with excitement. Instead, she nodded, lips tight as she tried to quell an uncontrollable smile.

"Whoa!" Victor exclaimed, from where he was trying to entertain a disinterested Rama. "Is that what you're going to wear?"

Her lips twitched. "Do you like it?"

He shivered exaggeratedly. "It's terrifying."

"Well, I'm not exactly there to make friends," Anastasia pointed out, carefully parting her bangs.

"Exactly," Vera echoed sagely. "When she walks in, the other competitors will know not to mess with her. It's the perfect statement to make."

There was a knock at the door, and all three siblings looked up.

"I'll get it," Victor said eagerly, springing to his feet. He opened the door to reveal–

"Father," Anastasia greeted. Her eyes scanned his face and read his expression in a second. "Is it time to go already?"

"I'm afraid so," he agreed, not unkindly.

"Very well." She took one last glance in the mirror, satisfied with her appearance, and then turned to the twins.

Before she could say anything, Victor had already launched himself straight at her, and wrapped his skinny arms around her. She nearly stumbled backward with the force of his body, and only just caught herself.

"G'bye," he mumbled into her coat, the words coming out muffled. "I know you're going to win 'cause you always win when we play cards, so don't worry, okay?"

She bent to hug him back, affectionately patting his head. "I won't worry, Vic. As long as you're here thinking of me, I'll be alright."

"Then I'll always think of you," he told her solemnly, stepping back. "And you can crush all your enemies."

"I'll do that," she replied, just as serious. "Behave while I'm gone, won't you? Listen to your sister."

Victor pulled a face at that, but reluctantly nodded agreement.

"And you," Anastasia said, facing Vera, who had been standing a distance away with the most peculiar expression. "Are you going to say goodbye?"

Vera nodded, and silently approached to hug her sister tightly. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with emotion. "I'll be rooting for you, Ana. And I'll take care of everyone here while you're gone."

"No tears, Vera," Anastasia chided gently, wiping them away from Vera's crystal eyes. "I know you'll do a good job while I'm gone. Don't be sad, now."

"Sorry," she whispered, swallowing with some difficulty. "Bye, Ana, I love you."

The admission made her heart contract almost painfully, and her eyes briefly closed. After a moment, she felt it was safe to look back at the girl holding tightly to her, like she was a life preserver.

"Be good. I'll come back very soon," she promised. "Whether I win or not."

"Are you ready?" Dimitri asked her, and she looked back to him.

"Yes, I'm ready." She grabbed her trusty black handbag and knelt to press a gentle kiss to Rama's head. Not sensing the significance, he went on snoring as usual. Even so, she couldn't help whispering, "Goodbye, old friend."

Dimitri offered his arm to her, which he accepted, and without a backward glance, they began to walk down the hall at a brisk pace. Neither of them were avid conversationalists, and the walk remained silent until they reached the double doors that led to the outdoors.

"There's a carriage outside that will take you to the train station," he told her, studying the buttons on her front. "Eliza's already waiting for you there."

"Father–,"

"The train ride shouldn't be long, just a few hours, I believe," he continued briskly. "Of course, there will be meals available anyway. You only have to make the request."

"Father–,"

"Remember your manners, you're representing all of us. And don't push yourself over your limits, you must prioritize your health if you're to do well. If you need anything from us in order to ensure success, just write us. Or you can talk to General Bronte's daughter, she'll be there with you. And of course, if–,"

"_Dad_." His eyes finally snapped up to hers, almost alarmed. She carefully took his hand. "Thank you for seeing me off. I'll make you proud."

"Of course you will," he agreed, the lines in his worn face softening nearly imperceptibly. "And… I want you to know–that is, I. Well, I–,"

"I know, Dad," she said softly, cutting him off. They weren't the kind of people who needed words to say things that important aloud for them to be true. "I'll see you soon."

"Take care," he told her quietly, nodding. There were a thousand messages in the look he gave her, behind icy eyes and a stoic frown. _Be careful,_ they said. _I'm proud,_ they said. _I love you, _they said.

She sent him a final smile, and then went outside, strangely calm. A footman helped her into the carriage, and she dropped into the seat across from Eliza, who looked up from her knitting to smile at her.

"Good morning, Ana. Said your goodbyes?" She asked warmly.

"As much as I can," she answered. "But I'll be back in no time."

"That you will," Eliza said, her wrinkled face creasing with her beam. "And they'll be with you when you're far away."

A comforting thought– one Anastasia could only hope would feel as true on the lonely nights as it did now, when they were still perfectly in reach. Instead of voicing her worries, she just nodded as the carriage began to move.

There was no time to dwell in fear. She was Lady Anastasia Hildekant from now on, and she had to act like it. Years of building who that person was would come into play as she stepped into the global spotlight. She could not afford a single misstep, a single flicker of weakness.

The blank landscape outside the carriage window blurred as they picked up speed, and Anastasia settled into her seat. There was a long journey ahead.

…

_Avyanna Bronte, 22, Vinterbroste_

The blast of the train whistle shattered the silence, and Avy looked away from the window. Across from her, on the other bench, Glacier lifted his head, ears pricked up. There were footsteps approaching, and her trusty wolf's chest rumbled with a warning.

"I hear," she said softly, eyes trained on the door. Her body tensed, and her mind flickered to the knife stowed in her boot.  
But the footsteps faded away as harmlessly as they had appeared, and both girl and wolf relaxed somewhat.

"Shall we look for Hildekant?" she murmured to Glacier.

He slowly blinked. _I couldn't really care less._

"Honestly, me either," she admitted. "But we'll need to stick together with the other girls to present a united front. It's a gesture of goodwill to approach her."

Glacier set his chin back down. _Whatever you say. If you go, you know I'll be there. _

"And I appreciate it," she said fondly, reaching over to stroke his head and scratch behind his ears.

There appeared a knock at the door, and both jumped to attention. Glacier's ears flicked backward, but he made no sound, looking to Avy for guidance.

"Who is it?" she asked, on-guard.

"I–um, I'm Eira," a girl called back. "Eira Bliven, I'm a contestant."

"Come in," she said slowly. "But don't scream."

The door slid open. "What do you mean, don't scr– oh my–!"

A slightly build girl with wide grey eyes stood in the doorway, a hand clapped over her mouth. While she was stunned, Avy scanned her up and down without missing a beat. Luckily for Eira, she saw no sign of concealed weapons, aggression, or general threat. There was a surprising amount of muscle on her, which Avy attributed to what she knew of the girl's profession. She relaxed somewhat in her seat. This girl was far from a threat.

"Don't mind Glacier, he won't hurt you," Avy said mildly, eyes trained on Eira. "You're the figure skater, right?"

"I–yes," Eira said, sinking uncertainly onto the bench next to Avy, leaning away from Glacier. "Did you hear about everyone else?"

"Some of them," Avy settled for saying. "I know the Vinterbroste candidates, among others."

"Wow, they didn't tell me anything," Eira said with a half-smile. "You're lucky."

Avy shrugged carelessly. "Comes from being the general's daughter. There are certain advantages, sometimes."

"General's daughter?" Eira asked, surprised. "Wait, I think I–are you Avyanna Bronte?"

"Avy," she corrected quickly, the words coming out unintentionally sharp. She forcibly softened her tone, noting the spooked, rabbit-like nature of Eira's body language. "You can call me Avy. The other contestant is the Primor's daughter, Anastasia Hildekant."

"Is it?" Eira looked thoughtful at that. "I think I met her once at Nationals. She seemed nice."

Avy's eyes narrowed. "Did she? I believe we've met once or twice, at government functions. Never got to speaking, really."

Eira just nodded, and they lapsed into a bit of an awkward silence.

"So, did you hear anything else about what we're going to do in this competition?" Eira asked, delicately clearing her throat. "I haven't heard anything so far."

"I haven't either," Avy said, lips tightening. "I assume if they've sent me, there'll be some sort of fighting aspect. Not quite sure why they sent you or Hildekant."

Eira's grey eyes seemed to glimmer with something surprised and taken aback. Her voice was tense with what Avy deduced to be defensiveness, when she said, "Well, there's more to the strength of a person than just _fighting _abilities."

Avy realized belatedly she had offended the girl, and internally sighed. She'd spent so much time amongst soldiers and her own tough-love style family, she'd forgotten to be tactful.

"It wasn't an insult, just an observation," she said, attempting to be comforting. "I'm sure your skills will be useful at some point."

For some reason, Eira didn't look impressed by her words. God, how did one talk to normal people again? Avy flattened her lips in frustration and tried again.

"Everyone has strengths and weaknesses," she said matter-of-factly. That was relatable, right? "I'm good with strategy and fighting. You're probably a very nice skater."

Eira's mouth twisted. "Thanks."

Avy cocked her head, latching onto the topic. "Do you do anything aside from skate?"

The skater's cheeks flushed red, and she blinked quickly. "I–,"

"Sorry," Avy amended, catching her expression. "What I mean is, do you do anything with your powers?"

"I'm–well… I don't use them very often," Eira said, glancing to the side. "I'm working through some stuff with that."

"Better work through it quick," Avy advised coolly, eyebrow arching. "Sort of bad timing, don't you think?"

"Is there a problem?"

Avy blinked. "Why would there be a problem?"

She was just beginning to think they were actually getting on quite well. Eira was going to make her list of trustworthy allies if she didn't screw it up now.

"You've kind of been rude to me since I showed up, and I'm not getting why," Eira said, frowning. "Do you have a problem with me, or is this some sort of weird intimidation strategy?"

"I–what? No, no this isn't a tactic. Trust me, my tactics are much better than this," Avy replied slowly, brows knitting. "On the contrary, I think the three of us should stick together to present a united front to the rest of the empire."

"So to be clear, you don't have an issue with me?" Eira clarified, squinting.

"No. My apologies if it's coming off that way." She paused, and then added in a more subdued voice, "I don't usually spend a lot of time around...people my age. Not civilians, anyway. I must be more out of practice than I thought."

Eira's expression turned gentle and she nodded sympathetically. "I get that. Talking to people can be a bit of a struggle sometimes."

Wait a second. Was that what had finally seemed to get through to Eira? It was–_ew_–opening up? It seemed she had just accidentally won the girl over by admitting weakness. Well, it was certainly a difference from the army, where weakness was preyed upon. This was valuable information, she could work with this in the future.

"We should work together in the Selection," Avy decided firmly. "I can help account for your lack of fighting skills, and you can help me...well, I haven't figured that out yet, but you can help me with something, surely."

"Maybe I could help you relearn how to talk to people," Eira said with a dry smile. "You _are _a little rusty."

Avy scowled, but nodded. Being vulnerable about her weaknesses, or whatever, right? If that was what it took to win around here, then she'd adapt to that. She was equipped to handle any situation–making friends? That was nothing. Especially when Eira was basically writing 'stepping stone' across her forehead.

"Hey, I'm gonna go back to my compartment and get some sleep," Eira said with a fragile smile. "Let's catch up later?"

"Sure," Avy said, and then offered a smile. Hopefully it looked less awkward on her face than it felt; though Eira's reaction wasn't supporting that wish. Still, she kept it up until the door had closed safely between them, and then she dropped the act.

"Forgot how sensitive and mild these people are," she mumbled.

Glacier opened one eye to stare at her. _Cutthroat. _

"I have to be," she answered under her breath, leaning over to scratch his head. "It's a competition. And I'm going to be the best."

_Hm. _Glacier closed his eyes again, peaceful. _Whatever you say._

**.**

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**.**

**Hey! SO! This happened. Let me know what you thought in a comment, and hey, if you have recommendations for who you want to see written next, drop them too! **

**Those who have a reserved place, please send in your apps in the next week or so! It's really hard to plan without my full cast. I'll be sending out a PM to you this weekend if you haven't submitted by Sunday, so please get those into me, or you might lose your place!**


	6. Fast Friends, Faster Enemies

**Are ya ready kids?**

**Aye aye captain**

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Luisa Pagel, 21, Alunde_

Luisa rocked back nervously on her heels, glancing around at the stoic military personnel stationed around her. None of them met her gaze as she peered around; they stared straight ahead like tin soldiers.

The train platform was completely deserted of anyone–probably on purpose–and even the other Alunde girls hadn't arrived. Luisa self-consciously adjusted the lapels of her coat and gently cleared her throat.

"Lovely day," she pointed out meekly.

No response. She twisted the plain silver ring around her index finger. The metal shimmered with her anxiety, and she idly reshaped the silver into a tiny snake that curled around her finger.

A commotion came from behind them, and everyone turned. Around her, every hand went to the metal rods at their belts. Luisa leaned around the barrel-chested guard to spy another unit of uniformed men, and her heart leapt into her throat.

The men parted to reveal a very disgruntled dark-haired girl wearing a coat with more pockets than Luisa had ever seen. Her eyes were a startling blue that lit up when they landed on Luisa, illuminating her face with an almost-unhinged glee. It wasn't an uncommon look to receive in Alunde; most of the people around the nation were brilliantly smart, but also marvelously eccentric.

"Pagel! You are, aren't you?" The girl demanded, bodily shoving her way through the crowd of guards. They stumbled back, not sure how to respond. "The jewelry girl?"

"I–yes, I am." She smiled, slightly taken aback. "Luisa."

"Luisa Pagel, of course," the girl agreed. "My brothers are great fans of yours."

"I'm flattered," she answered. "And you are?"

The girl grinned and pointed to Luisa's wrist. "Edison-Verne. Victoria. That's a lovely piece you've got there. Must be some of my early stuff."

Luisa glanced instinctively down at her watch, and looked back up, beaming. "Edison-Verne, really? Of Angel and Edison? That's splendid, I'm a wonderful fan of your family as well! This was the first thing I purchased when I started my business. It's served me so well. Never a minute slow."

"I should hope not," Victoria said, pleased. She glanced around curiously. "Are you the only other one?"

"As far as I know," Luisa said. "But I thought the ironspoke mentioned three in total."

Admittedly, the process of projecting messages through the metal with unique vibration patterns was a little tough to decipher sometimes. Especially since Luisa didn't specialize in iron, but silver and gold. Very useful for jewelry; not so much for dealing with the ironspoke.

"Ironspoke?" Victoria's nose wrinkled at the word. "Nasty unpredictable thing. Never got the hang of it. Always comes out garbled to me. I do so prefer the telegram."

"Telegram!" Luisa exclaimed, amused. That had to be _decades_ old. "How quaint."

"My grandfather never got around to replacing the old system, so I grew up using it," Victoria said with a merry, ringing laugh. "It's ever so reliable. In fact I've been wondering about making some modifications so that we might simply merge the two. Can you imagine speaking into an apparatus and having it projected straight to someone else's home, without the use of magic? Just trusty machinery?"

"How fantastical," Luisa answered, smiling. "Do mention if you figure it out, I must say, I'm not the biggest fan of the ironspoke myself."

"It's settled, then. Ironspoke is entirely outdated," Victoria said, with a note of finality. She looped her arm through Luisa's with an air of solidarity. "For the both of us, and the good of Alunde, I'll have to find a solution."

"Who knows, perhaps it might even spread to other nations," Luisa suggested, giggling.

"Come now," Victoria said, with a roll of her eyes. "Other nations never want anything from us other than weapons and trains. Always, it's weapons and trains and watches and jewelry. No one ever cares for the good stuff."

"Well, that hasn't done the two of us much wrong has it?" Luisa joked. "Seems we've both found our fortune in it."

"Yes, but there's so much more," Victoria said earnestly. "There's so much more experimentation we can do, there's so much more beyond just trains. Beyond ironspokes and power enhancing devices."

There was a shimmering light in Victoria's eyes, nearly manic but full of hope. It was pure Alundish essence, and Luisa was glad to see it. It wouldn't be so hard, then, to be away from home. Not when Victoria carried in her such genuine Alundish spirit.

"Quite heavy stuff for a Tuesday morning," Luisa said, smoothly changing the topic.

"Yes, I'm too liable to get into the deep thinking," Victoria said, shaking her head sheepishly. "Sorry, that's a rather serious introduction."

"No, I appreciated it," Luisa said, patting her hand. "Let's not get too bogged down in it. On an unrelated note, I'd like to know what you keep in all these pockets."

The watchmaker lit up in a completely different way, her face brightening with child-like happiness.

"Oh, isn't it wonderful? I had it specially made from a Haixinese silk blended with a thread made of a metal alloy, feel it! Soft like water, but stronger than steel," Victoria explained giddily. "I can fit so much in these pockets! Mostly watch parts at the moment, but…"

She opened her coat to reveal a breast pocket and pulled out a little clockwork cricket. She wound up the key carefully, and then the automaton came to life, twisting its miniature head and blinking its glowing blue eyes. Its tiny wire antennae twitched and it chirped charmingly.

"How cute," Luisa cooed. "Did you make this?"

"My grandfather did," Victoria said, just as the key twisted to a stop and the light flickered out of the cricket's eyes. She slid it back into her pocket, smiling a dimpled grin. "My send-off gift. I haven't thought of a name yet."

"Maybe we can think of one on the train," Luisa suggested, leaning past the guards to see the plume of steam that marked its arrival. "Here it comes."

Behind them, ringing footsteps sounded, and the final contingency of guards arrived, clustered around a very flustered redhead with grease on her cheek. Her bag was a beaten brown leather thing that looked on the verge of falling apart.

"Sorry I'm late," the girl yelled in a thick northern accent, jogging over. Her thick braid of red hair flew behind her, and her freckled cheeks glowed with exertion. "Didn't realize today was send-off. Had a long goodbye."

"You're alright," Luisa told her cheerfully. "Here it comes now."

"Finley Rilke," the girl introduced with a breathless smile.

"Rilke?" Luisa tilted her head, thoughtful. "Is your family the music box Rilkes?"

"Ah, no," Finley said, rubbing the back of her neck.

"The egg timer Rilkes?" Victoria suggested.

"No–,"

"Aha! You must be the gramophone Rilkes!" Luisa said, snapping her fingers eagerly. "You are, aren't you?"

"No," Finley said with a note of sharpness that took both girls aback. Her freckles merged with her blotchy flush, and at her sides, her hands had balled into fists. "I'm not any of those Rilkes. My family's coal miners. We're not a trademark family."

Victoria and Luisa fell silent awkwardly. Of course it was an honest mistake to make; Rilke was a rather common surname. But nonetheless rather tactless of them to goad her into revealing her status. Families without trademarks were generally at the bottom of the hierarchy. It meant they were a family that had never invented anything useful in all their years. In a nation that prized innovation and originality, it was somewhat looked down upon.

Finley's eyes were gleaming with a defensive air, like she'd bite the first one of them to make a comment about it. Luisa and Victoria exchanged a glance.

"That's alright," Victoria told her. "Trademarks are old-fashioned anyway. Fairly certain no one remembers my family for anything but watches, but we're actually the bottle-opener Edisons."

"Mine is hardly a trademark family either," Luisa added. "We were the automated can-opener Pagels."

Finley laughed, and the tension eased. Right on cue, the train glided into the station and let out an enormous billow of steam.

"All aboard," Luisa remarked dryly, glancing at the other girls.

The door opened, and a man stepped out in a crisp uniform.

"Ladies," he said with a smile. "Welcome to the first step of your journey."

…

_Sereia Jour, 23, Ethotaur_

The rhythmic chug of the train began to slow down, and Sereia came to attention in her seat. If her memory served, this was the stop in Alunde. Third to last stop before they arrived in Verelys.

She felt for the pendant around her neck and rubbed the pad of her thumb over the smooth glass surface once, twice, three times. A part of her still felt unsettled, so she rubbed it another four times, and then did it two more times to make it six. Nine times total.

She relaxed in her seat. Nine times for the nine lives of a cat, nine for the powers of Ethotaur, nine for the nine years she'd spent with the Order of Spirits. Nine was a good number, a lucky number. As the old rhyme went, "Peril in eight, peril in ten, but success in nine, time and again".

She tried to remember when she'd first heard the rhyme. Not from her sisters at the Order of Spirits. They, like all Ethotaurians, had their superstitions, but theirs were much more elaborate–rooted in history and tradition. No, this was just a common folktale rhyme. It had to have been from her mother, something her mother had said before she'd left her family for the Order.

The exterior doors opened with a hiss, and three loud voices speaking in Alundish boarded. Being one of the languages that primarily informed the common tongue, Alundish was just out of reach for Sereia. A couple words here and there were comprehensible, but she couldn't really understand what they were saying. Then again, if she was honest, Sereia's Vere could use some work too.

Almost unconsciously, the circumference of Sereia's awareness expanded, as easily as blinking. In a flash, her powers swept into the mind of the closest girl. A cacophony of shouting thoughts roared up and she mentally flinched. As soon as she realized the significance of the reaction, she pulled back. She'd gotten into the habit of not using her powers to see down in the caverns, but the old instinct seemed to have returned in this unfamiliar situation. Sereia took a deep, meditative breath, reminding herself to relax. To find peace.

Just the brief dip into the girl's mind was almost too much for her, after months of keeping out of other's thoughts. Most people's thoughts manifested in streams of consciousness like that, but this girl had some of the loudest thoughts she'd ever heard. It was a little overwhelming. God, she'd had no idea people beyond Ethotaur were so sloppy in their thoughts and mental defenses. And she'd thought the civilians in her nation were bad.

Now that she was out of the girl's mind, she was limited again, and she sat very still, just listening as footsteps approached.

A knock sounded, and the door slid back, squealing a little on its track.

"Hi," said a bright voice in accented Vere. "My name's Luisa. Would it trouble you if we sat here?"

Sereia hesitated for a moment, trying to find the words in Vere. "If you want."

"I'm Victoria, and this is Finley," a second voice explained. Sereia's seat depressed next to her, and she became aware of another presence close to her.

"I'm Sister Sereia," she said. "Of the Order of Spirits. From Ethotaur, if that wasn't obvious?"

"Ethotaur!" Victoria repeated eagerly. The floor vibrated as Victoria stomped her feet in excitement. "I've never met a genuine Ethotaurian person before! How thrilling!"

"Tada," she said, her voice totally devoid of any real enthusiasm. "We're not an endangered species."

There was an awkward moment, like someone was late on a cue. Sereia could practically feel glances being exchanged, though of course she had no proof.

"It's funny, I thought Ethotaurians always wore veils," the third girl, the one who hadn't spoken yet, piped up. "Don't your eyes hurt from the light aboveground?"

She almost sounded suspicious, as though Sereia was lying for some reason. Without even being conscious of it, Sereia rolled her eyes.

"Not really a point for me," Sereia said robotically. She was quickly growing bored of this conversation. "I'm blind."

"Ah." Another awkward pause.

"Sorry," Luisa offered. "Er–I suppose that's rather strange to say, I don't–,"

"It's fine. I work around it." At any moment, she could sweep forward with her magic and dip into Luisa's mind, her mental presence nothing more than a whisper so she wouldn't be detected. Of course, she didn't. She didn't really see a point at the moment. But she could have.

"So," she heard Luisa say. "You said you're part of the Order of the Spirits? I've never heard of such an order, it sounds simply fascinating."

That funny roundabout way Alundish people spoke, with all their excessive words and elaborate adjectives made Sereia's lips curve slightly.

"I doubt most people outside of Ethotaur know," she answered understandingly, pausing slightly to reorganize her thoughts into Vere. "It's a very prestigious organization, but you probably haven't heard much about it, since the basic education of commoners doesn't delve much into it."

"My education's plenty thorough, thanks," said Victoria, an undercurrent of steel in her voice. "And it's commonly polite to turn your head towards people when they speak, don't you think?"

Sereia blinked, somewhat caught off guard by the directness of the jab. Had she not mentioned she was _blind_?

"What's the point? Shall I read your expression?" Sereia retorted, eyebrows raised. Her tone wasn't provoking, but amused, albeit perplexed. How ambitiously confrontational.

Still, she did turn her head, if only because she needed to get back into the habit. It was something seeing people seemed to like, wasn't it? It was never a requirement in the Order; everyone there was like family, and were accustomed to her behavior.

There was a tense silence, before she heard the rustle of fabric. When Victoria spoke again, it was clear she'd stood up.

"You really need to get off your high horse if you hope to make any progress at all," Victoria told her plainly. "And I think this train ride is too long to spend holed up with the likes of you. If you'll excuse me."

She strode out of the compartment, and Sereia didn't stop her. As Sister Talie often said, _troubles will root themselves out, if they are given the space to exit without intervention._

"I–think I'm going to go after her," Luisa said after a moment, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "My apologies, it was nice to make your acquaintance, Sereia."

She got up and left, and the girl sitting next to her followed, without any attempt at an explanation.

Sereia stayed in her seat, and for the first time since she'd left, felt a flicker of insecurity, of doubt. Within the Order, she knew she was accepted and normal. Here, she felt grotesquely out of place. Her nonchalant exterior buckled, and she began to take deep breaths, trying to recover her carefully maintained peace.  
_A restless spirit makes for rash decisions, _Sister Talie often said. _To find peace within the soul is to find clarity of the mind. _

The saying had comforted her often when losing her composure. It restored; it healed. It reminded Sereia of her learnings and the things she'd devoted her life to. _Find peace, find control._

Somehow, outside of the safe embrace of the caverns, or even better, the walls of the Order, it didn't hold the power it once did. These strange foreign skies diluted her faith. These strange foreign girls reached her in ways she didn't know how to defend.

For not the first time, Sereia imagined opening her eyes and seeing like everyone else. She imagined opening her mouth, and having the right thing come out every time. She imagined having grown up to be normal, someone people were drawn to like.

But she was just Sereia Jour, Sister Sereia. The blind girl, the Ethotaurian, the unusual.

Her thumb smoothed the surface of her pendant. _One, two, three,_ she counted, all the way up to nine. She repeated it again, and again.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine._

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine_

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight–_

…

_Melissándré LeRoi, 20, Coranzorre_

So far, it wasn't looking good.

Melissándre examined the spread of four tarot cards in front of her, in order from the top and going clockwise, the Hermit, the High Priestess, the Devil, and the Tower. Not only was she wary of drawing all cards from the major arcana, but she didn't like the direction the cards were pointing.

The Hermit was in the spot for what was known to herself and others, and pointed away from her. A nasty, snide voice in her head whispered what she knew it to represent: _isolation, loneliness, withdrawal._

She blinked hard and swallowed, trying not to dwell in that truth. She didn't need any more reminders of her social and romantic ineptitude. She didn't need any more reminders of what she'd lost.

In the position of known to others but not the self, was the High Priestess. That puzzled her. Because it was reversed, she knew it meant secrets and silence. If that had been in another position, it would have made sense. But it was something unknown to her, but known to others. It was possible someone around her was keeping secrets. Melissándré frowned. That wasn't a good omen for this Selection.

To her deep dread, the Devil was in the position of known to the self, but not to others. She tried not to dwell on that one, and turned the card over to escape the laughing yellow eyes of the Devil's depiction. That one was one she didn't need even a second to interpret. There was no mistaking what that one meant, and it made her stomach turn.

Finally, what was unknown to the self and others: the Tower. The Tower, the only one pointing towards her, meant change, or a sudden upheaval. Of course, it could have meant leaving her life in Coranzorre behind to attend the Selection, but somehow she doubted it. That was known by all, and besides, the major arcana represented big picture events. Something big was on the horizon, she decided. It chilled her to the bone to even imagine what it might be.

"Reading my own cards clouds the prediction with personal passions," she spoke aloud, as if trying to get the message to sink in. "Reading my own cards clouds the prediction with personal passions."

That meant this reading might not be totally accurate. In fact, there was a good chance this was completely warped.

A knock sounded on the door, and she started in surprise, nearly dropping her deck. Swiftly, she collected the cards, and cleared her throat: "Enter."

A girl wearing a very statement pair of tinted glasses poked her head in.

"Oh, you're not Sereia," she said, appearing surprised. Her Vere was accented by a dark accent Melissándré recognized as Ethotauric. Most people probably couldn't identify that, but it was frequently the language that the old rituals were in, and she'd been speaking it for years as part of her training.

"No. I'm Melissándré," she said. "Are you one of the contestants?"

"Mika, from Ethotaur," she said, by way of answer. Her eyes zeroed in on Melissándré's hands, and her eyes lit up. "Is that a deck of cards? Do you know how to play poker?"

"These are tarot cards," Melissándré said, fanning them out to prove it.

"You read tarot?" Mika asked. She didn't have the same enthusiasm she'd had a moment ago, but a curious interest lifted her tone. "Could you read my cards?"

_Are you going to take it seriously?_ she wanted to ask. There was a glinting amusement in Mika's inky eyes, like she was on the verge of laughing. She wasn't the first disbeliever Melissándré had encountered, and she wouldn't be the last.

"I don't think so," Melissándré answered, glancing away.

"I think you should," Mika said deliberately.

Melissándré nodded in agreement. "You're right," she agreed. "If you'd have a seat?"

Mika sat down at the bench across from her, her expression inscrutable. She leaned her chin on the heel of her hand, that dark gaze heavy and critical as Melissándré shuffled the deck with old practice. Residue from her last reading seemed to cling to the deck, so she shuffled it two times afterward to purge the remaining darkness.

"Do you have a question in mind?" Melissándré asked. Her voice had switched to what her twin, Delphine, had dubbed her 'High Priestess' voice: a velvet tone concealing a gleaming blade of command.

"How about: what will happen during the Selection?" Mika asked dryly, her lips curving into a slight smirk.

Melissándré ignored the other girl's sardonic tone, rather concentrated on keeping her thoughts in check. She wanted to know the answer as well, but if she wanted a clear answer, she needed to keep her personal passions from affecting the outcome of the reading.

"Let me ask you something," Mika said, as she began laying the cards in the proper formation, choosing a different spread this time. "Do you really believe in this? That what you think some cards are telling you is the truth?"

"I get this question more often than you might think," Melissándré said archly, staring Mika down as she finished the formation. "And my question is how you can swallow the truth of people manipulating flesh and speaking to the dead with ease, but can't comprehend the idea of magic fortune-telling cards. After all, isn't it said that the purest in blood of Ethotaurians once could read the future too?"

Mika hesitated, like she was about to say something, and then fell silent. Melissándré's lips curled upwards triumphantly; not _smug_–that wouldn't befit a High Priestess–but pleased. She began to flip the cards over.

"What?" Mika asked after a moment, leaning in. "Is it good?"

Melissándré pursed her lips. "It could be. Let's start from the beginning. We know the future by first studying the past. The card that represents your past is the Emperor."

"What does that mean?"

"It's upright, which means it symbolizes authority and domination. Excessive control." She studied Mika's face, which remained carefully blank. A poker player indeed. "Perhaps there was something overly controlling in your life, like an institution, or a parent?"

"Let's move on," Mika said, her voice giving nothing away. "What does this sword guy mean?"

"The Knight of Swords. It represents a general theme in your life. Recklessness, burnout, and impulsive action," Melissándré said, carefully mild.

This time, a muscle in Mika's cheek twitched. Quite an unconscious reaction, but Melissándré latched onto it, sensing she was in the right direction.

"This could mean that you're currently very reckless in your decisions, or don't have a permanent idea of your future," Melissándré said, scanning her face for any reaction. "Perhaps you've been acting out in some way, as of late, due to rejecting the authority of your past."

"I want to know about the Selection, I want to know about the future," Mika said tersely. "Can we talk about the future?"

She sensed she'd struck a nerve, and nodded gracefully without putting up a fight. She could only give the reading, not force her audience to accept it.

"The future holds the Five of Wands, which represents conflict or competition," Melissándré said. She was a little disappointed; she'd hoped to find something she didn't already know.

"That's a little redundant," Mika pointed out, apparently agreeing.

Nonetheless, Melissándré shot her a bit of a look, irritated at the commentary. "The cards don't know everything, they can only guide us. If you don't like the answer you got, you might consider reassessing the way you asked the question."

"What in the hell does that mean?" Mika asked, scowling.

"You asked the question sarcastically," Melissándré said, shrugging. "The cards–,"

"You're saying a deck of cards is sassing me?" Mika demanded testily. "For being disrespectful? Are you hearing yourself?"

Ignoring her, Melissándré went on.

"The card in front of you tells you what your fatal ignorance is. The King of Cups represents emotional manipulation," Melissándré replied sharply. "I doubt I need to explain that one. Keep your magic out of the minds of other people, Ethotaurian."

Mika blanched. "What–?"

"I can tell when someone is swaying my emotions," she said in a low, deadly tone. "You flaunt your power, expecting there will be no conflicts. If someone doesn't want to give you a tarot reading, you sway them into changing their minds. You think it's a game to use your magic on others, and that is your flaw."

Mika stood up suddenly, her cheeks flushed. "And you believe in the nonsense of cards with dinky pictures on them. No one can know the future, and you don't know jack-shit about me!"

The door slammed shut as she stormed out and Melissándré shook her head to herself. Non-believers always got flustered when the cards spoke the truth. It frightened them to be read. Melissándré had seen it countless times before; this was no different.

The final card in the spread was supposed to represent what held them back. Melissándré glanced at what it was, and laughed aloud.

The Star, reversed: lack of faith.

**.**

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**.**

**All the girls are officially submitted which means the plot can be finalized and the fun can begin! please leave a review if there was something you liked about this chapter, or give feedback for things to improve on. How do you feel about the six (six!) girls introduced this chapter? Anyone want to read into Mel's tarot reading? **

**Okay, anyway I really appreciate the support and patience I've been receiving, it encourages me so much. See you in the next one!**


	7. Disaster Strikes!

**This chapter goes out to sevenzeroseven, who is now officially my beta but has always been one of my partners-in-crime. I legitimately would not have written this chapter without her. You guys can't believe how shit the first draft of this was. **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

**.**

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**.**

_Celestina Rai, 18, Blitzerren_

The doors of the train hissed shut behind Celestina, Kandice, and Eder, and the three girls exchanged a glance. That was the last Blitzerren soil they'd step foot on for the next few months. Celestina wondered if the other girls felt the melancholy she did. Judging by the way Kandice yawned, and Eder checked her cuticles, probably not.

"Shall we find a compartment?" Eder proposed in a tone that could only be described as clinical. Like she wouldn't care if Celestina suggested they all climbed onto the luggage racks.

"Unless you want to stand for the rest of the trip," Kandice replied coolly.

Tension wavered in the air as the two girls held eye contact, and Celestina held her breath, glancing between them. Then Eder just rolled her eyes and led the way down the train corridor.

Most of the compartment doors were closed, which made sense since Blitzerren was the last stop on the way to Verelys. Celestina didn't get much of a glimpse of the girls in the compartments, much to her disappointment. When they finally found an open compartment, both Kandice and Eder swung their luggage into the rack without issue. Celestina, however, struggled under the weight of her trunk as she tried to lift it into place. Neither girl made a move to help her, watching her with matching critical gazes, so she just gritted her teeth and used all her strength to push it into place. To her relief, the final burst of effort did it, and she sat down on the bench across from the other two.

"It's sort of sad to leave, huh?" Celestina said shyly, trying to break the thick ice in the room. "I'm going to miss my family."

Eder spared her a cold look. "Isn't the Selection of a higher priority than your personal connections? You do realize we're representing our nations, right?"

She blinked. "Yes, of course, but–,"

"You don't have to defend yourself," Eder said with a shrug. "I'm just saying, your family will still be here when you get back."

"That doesn't mean she can't miss them," Kandice pointed out, and Celestina tried to smile in thanks, but the other girl's attention wasn't remotely directed towards her. "By the Wells, Eder, aren't you going to miss people here?"

"I'll miss the familiarity," Eder said with a detached blink. "Everything else I can find in Verelys as well."

Kandice laughed lightly, tossing a lock of ash blonde hair over her shoulder. "How logical of you."

"What will you miss, then?" Eder asked, expression tightening with annoyance. "Family? Friends? Aren't you a criminal?"

"I've never served jail time," Kandice said evasively, crossing her arms. "Anyway, mercenaries still have personal lives. I'm probably going to miss… hm, maybe my boyfriend."

Celestina's eyes bugged. "You have a boyfriend? But aren't we going to the Selection?"

"Those things don't have to be mutually exclusive, dear," Kandice said overly-kindly, turning her attention over for the first time. Her tone was similar to that one would use to talk to a toddler, and Celestina wilted. "As Eder said, I'm doing it for the nation. My boyfriend's a good patriot, he understands."

Eder snorted. "You're probably doing it for a fat paycheck."

Icy rage stole over Kandice's face, and for the first time so far, Celestina caught a glimpse of the terrifying mercenary hiding behind the doll-like mask. Even Eder stiffened, and she averted her gaze.

"Watch what you say," Kandice warned, deceptively cheerful. "I wouldn't want us to end up enemies, Eder. My enemies don't have a very good history."

"History of what?" Eder somehow found the courage to ask.

This time, Kandice's smile looked more like a wolf baring its fangs. "Surviving."

With that, Eder shut up and looked determinedly out the window, her expression blank. Outside, the icy landscape blurred past in one pale smudge. In the distance, the Atan Mountains loomed, coming ever closer as the train raced toward it.

"So," Kandice spoke up, eyes narrowed almost predatorily. Celestina braced herself for what was to come. "Your name was Celestina, right? I love your eye color, it makes you look so… exotic."

Celestina's brows knit at the back-handed nature of the compliment. After all, they all had blue eyes, so what in the Wells did 'exotic' mean? "Thank you? I mean, it's not really exotic. I'm from Blitzerren, not anywhere special."

"Well, yeah, but aren't you from one of those tribes?" Kandice said, tilting her pretty blonde head. "The Oya tribe?"

"Yeah," Celestina confirmed slowly. "But my people came to Blitzerren around the same time as yours. We're about as native to this land as you are."

She glanced at Eder, who she knew to be a professor, hoping for back up from an intellectual. However, Eder made a point of looking out the window, affecting disinterest. Celestina tried not to let her disappointment show, but couldn't keep her shoulders from slumping. Evidently, Kandice had intimidated her into submission. Great. Zero for two on the alliance front.

"I can't say I know much about the tribes and stuff, but isn't your family supposed to be super powerful?" Kandice commented. She seemed to be searching Celestina for a reaction, her lips curled in the barest smile. "I can't wait to see what you do at the Selection, I mean, your family has quite a reputation. When I was at the Primor's Academy, your brother was quite the big shot. Most powerful in three generations, or whatever, right?"

Celestina deflated. Great. Just when she thought she might finally be escaping the constant comparisons to Caegal and his greatness, Kandice wanted to bring him up.

"He's pretty great," she agreed listlessly. "We're very proud of him."

"You two don't look much alike," Kandice observed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I think it's the skin."

Her hand flew up to trace the marbling of white over her eye reflexively, and Celestina felt her face get hot. "I don't have all of my mark yet. But it's supposed to come in soon. My mom didn't get hers until she was older as well."

"Isn't the mark supposed to correlate to power level?" Eder said, her eyes darting to the mercenary to check her reaction. When Kandice didn't offer a negative response, she added, "I heard for the Oya tribe, at least, that the more expansive your white mark, the stronger your magic."

Celestina hesitated. "I mean, yeah that's true, but–,"

"Isn't Caegal albino?" Kandice cut in, her eyes gleaming with surprise that didn't seem organic. "Wow, he really must be something. And you're…" she examined the palm-sized patch of ivory skin over one wide, blue eye and hid her smirk rather poorly. "Well, being a late bloomer isn't anything to be ashamed of."

Celestina felt her eyes prickle with the comment. A wave of memories swept into her mind unbidden, and she felt her heart thudding against her ribs almost painfully. _Cel, if you can't even shock me when I'm not defending myself, how are you supposed to fight? Cel, are you even trying? Cel, you're such a disgrace. _Even now, she could picture Caegal's sneer, her mother's disappointed frown, the way everyone's eyes skated over her when she stood with her family. She swallowed the lump in her throat, praying for her eyes to dry before tears could form.

"I'm here to represent all the tribes of Blitzerren," she finally replied, but her voice was weaker than she wished it was, betraying her uncertainty. "My family trusts me to do it with the magic I have."

"Of course," Kandice agreed sweetly. "I hope I didn't offend you, Celemina."

"Celestina," she whispered under her breath, staring resolutely at her feet.

Kandice tilted her head. "What was that?"

She blinked and felt the way her lashes dampened. At least she wasn't full-on crying. "Nothing."

"Why don't you show us some of your magic?" Kandice encouraged. "If your family's so powerful, you can show us a trick or two, right?"

"Oh, um, I don't know," Celestina stammered. Inside, her heart rate jumped into the triple digits, and she struggled to control her breathing. "I don't really have any tricks to show."

"Nonsense, show us something!" Kandice said, chilly smile unwavering. "Eder, don't you think she should?"

"You should," Eder agreed. "Didn't your brother show you anything cool?"

"My brother and I are very different people," Celestina mumbled. "I'm not like him."

"You're related, aren't you?" Kandice dismissed. "C'mon, the three of us are supposed to represent the nation. Don't you have anything to show for being chosen out of all the other girls in Blitzerren?"

Her mother's words echoed in her head. _How are you going to compete in this Selection if you can't even summon any lightning?_

"I–um–,"

"Can you even do magic?" Eder said skeptically.

"Yes! I just–," she tried to swallow down her panic, to no avail. "I'm not my brother. I'm not that strong."

"If you're lightning-proficient, just zap Eder once," Kandice commanded, leaning forward. Her smile had disappeared entirely, and Celestina reared back fearfully at the razor-sharp light in her eyes. "Do it. Or are you just a powerless Oya girl away from home?"

Under her skin, her power bubbled and stirred with her mounting anxiety. She felt it beginning to roil uncomfortably at the taunts. The outside landscape was replaced by darkness as they entered the tunnel that cut through the Atan Mountains. Celestina stared at the electric lights overhead, trying to sense the lighting flowing through them to draw off of.

"You'll be the first to go home at this rate," Eder said, smirking. "You really don't have magic at all, do you? Told you she didn't have magic."

Celestina tried in vain to make lighting arc from her fingertips, with no result. She tried again, suppressing the urge to hyperventilate. Kandice and Eder watched, one amused, one bored—both equally unimpressed. Her power seethed and burned in her chest, but not even sparks appeared.

"Come now, Celemina, we can't have this." Kandice tutted chidingly. "I mean, you're not just an embarrassment to your family, but to your tribe. To Blitzerren. Maybe we should write the Primor and just tell him to send someone new."

"I have magic," she blurted out, her voice cracking. "I do, I swear I do! It's just not working right now."

Kandice laughed mockingly. "Just not working? What happens when it doesn't work in front of the prince? Face it, sweetheart, you don't really deserve to be here, do you?"

Her magic roared in response, rushing through her body like a tidal wave. She tried to control it, but Kandice and Eder's taunts echoed in her ears, alongside years of Caegal's insults.

"Maybe you should–"

Celestina tried to utter a warning, but her tongue was paralyzed in her mouth,

"–just go back home."

The strangled gasp that escaped her was accompanied by a wave of electricity that exploded from her body and swept through the compartment. For one isolated moment, her veins turned to pure fire, and the world became one blinding light.

And then–

_nothing._

When Celestina opened her eyes, the darkness flooding the room was stark and terrifying. Something smelled acrid, like burning, and her heart sank as she realized what had happened.

Kandice's quiet laughter sounded like a blade being sharpened.

"Well, well, well. Now you've done it."

* * *

_Nysa Haimbu, 19, Haixin_

The wave of electricity slammed into Nysa so fast that she didn't even have a moment to prepare herself. She jolted as it passed through her, and by the time it was gone, she was already sitting in darkness. Somewhere outside, screams split the air.

Nysa placed a hand on her chest, trying to calm her heartbeat as her eyes adjusted to the new darkness. Barely anything was visible; all light was blocked out by the tunnel around them as the train carved its way through the Atan Mountains.

"Stay calm, Nysa," she muttered to herself. Okay, think. What should she do?

She figured it was best not to be alone at this time, and got to her feet. They'd stopped in Lumetierre, maybe someone aboard had some light to spare.

Nysa left her things where they were and eased the door open carefully, peering outside. She couldn't see or hear anyone out there, and ventured further into the hallway, sliding the door shut behind her.

"Hello?" she said, with no answer. To be fair, she was in the final car of the train, and she doubted most people had walked all the way back here. Most of the girls probably just occupied the first empty compartment they could find.

She made her way to the front of the car, groping through the darkness. The car was entirely empty, almost eerily so. Trying not to be spooked, she squeezed through the door into the bridge connecting her car to the next.

Nysa stepped into the next car apprehensively, trying to sense any other presences. "Hello? Anyone there?"

She took a few steps forward experimentally, growing more paranoid by the moment. It wasn't that she was afraid of the darkness, she just hadn't expected she was so alone back here. Where was everyone else?

She tried to peek into a couple of compartments, but they were still empty, as far as she could tell. Subconsciously, beads of water were gathering around her with the more nervous she got. She could sense the water in the air, and under her magic, it multiplied.

"Next car it is," she said to herself. She strode up to the set of doors and pushed through them.

Instantly, her field of vision exploded into pure light and heat, and without missing a beat, she screamed and pelted the source of it with all the water she could produce.

Nysa continued screaming with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands thrust in front of her until gradually she became aware of the noticeable lack of retaliation. She cracked an eye and found another girl sputtering through the torrent of water that had just assaulted her. Her scream very quickly lost pitch and volume, and her hands dropped in surprise.

"What in the First Well is wrong with you?" the other girl shouted, and Nysa winced at the invocation.

"Okay, okay, no need to curse," she said sheepishly. "It's just a little water."

"Just a little water!" the other girl growled. "I'm _soaked_!"

Water sloshed around her boots as she stomped.

"Well, you were on fire!" Nysa protested, skittering backward. "And you startled me! I'm pretty sure it just saved my life and yours, so a 'thank you' would be nice!"

"You idiot, it's my fire," the other girl snapped. "I was controlling it!"

Nysa lost momentum very quickly as she realized what had happened. _Oh._

"Oh," she said, feeling very silly. "You're Mortefierren."

"Wow, what clued you in?" the girl spat. Her hands lit with a wobbly yellow flame, illuminating the two of them and the hallway. It didn't look very stable, but that was probably Nysa's fault.

"Look, I'm sorry about the whole getting you wet thing," she said honestly. "I was just surprised. My name's Nysa, I'm from Haixin."

"I never would have thought," the girl mocked. "I'm Emiko. Mortefierro, if you were still confused."

"You're really taking this seriously, aren't you," Nysa said, raising her eyebrows. "I said I was sorry, it's not that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal?" Emiko repeated, furious. "Look at me! I'm literally dripping! I can barely create a flame."

Nysa tried to summon the water back to her, but at best, it only resulted in Emiko going from drenched to damp. Still, she was proud of her handiwork and beamed. "There! That's better, right?"

Emiko glared.

"My specialty's in making things wet, not drying them," Nysa said defensively. Then, quieter, she muttered, "Eleven Wells, if I'd known Mortos were this uptight I would have just stayed in my compartment."

"You realize I can hear you," Emiko pointed out, scowling. "We're literally the only ones in this car."

"Look, I'm just going to go to the next car," Nysa said, rolling her eyes. "You're welcome to stay here in the dark by yourself. I won't keep bothering you."

"Great, looking forward to it," Emiko sniped.

Nysa shook her head. Boy, this girl had anger management issues. She needed a trip to the beach, or something because she really liked to hold a grudge. Well, good riddance. Maybe she'd find a friendlier one in the next car.

However, apparently everything had decided to work out in her favor today, and when she tried the knob of the door to the next car, it refused to give way. For a moment, she didn't believe it was true, and she tried again. Then reality set in, and Nysa groaned.

"Great."

Emiko scoffed. "What's wrong, aren't you leaving?"

"Door's locked," she said grimly. "I'm not going anywhere. Maybe something in the lock broke when the shockwave came through."

"Whatever." Emiko turned around, on a trajectory back to her compartment, and Nysa followed her, resigned. She looked up when Nysa stuck her foot in the door as she tried to close it. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Coming into your compartment," Nysa said blankly like it was obvious. When she caught Emiko's repelled expression, she laughed. "C'mon, you're not seriously going to abandon me outside in the dark, by myself?"

"On the contrary," Emiko grunted, trying to shut the door on Nysa's foot and failing.

"No way." Nysa wedged herself into the crack in the door, for once grateful for the slender build that usually screwed her when she was out sailing. "I'm not sitting alone until the lights come back on."

"Yes. You. Are." Emiko punctuated each word with a push that nearly sent her out the door. Luckily her years of experience fighting with the might of the ocean on the deck of the boat meant she was stronger than she looked. Comparatively, Emiko wasn't too much of a challenge to fight off.

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. She evaded another push and slid around Emiko to plop onto the vacant bench. "It's going to be ten minutes, tops, you can take it. I refuse to sit in the dark alone."

"Because you're scared?" Emiko sneered.

"Yes!" Nysa agreed earnestly. "I thought that was obvious!"

Evidently giving up, Emiko huffed out a sigh and sat down across from her. Her flames had migrated from the palms of her hands to her forearms, and they were burned a steady orange now. Probably because she was drying off with the heat of the fire.

Nysa's attention wandered as they sat in icy silence. Her lips parted to ask a question, but Emiko caught sight of it right away.

"No small talk," she said flatly. "No talking at all. I'm not talking to you."

Nysa rolled her eyes. "Very mature."

Emiko's eyes flared. "You know what else is mature? Hiding in someone else's compartment because you're afraid of the dark."

"I'm not afraid of the dark, per se, I just don't see why I should sit in it when you're a perfectly good source of light," Nysa sniffed. "You're like a human night-light."

Emiko's lips pulled back in a snarl, the flames flickering on her forearms burning blue. "Like a human _what_? Say that again, I dare you."

Nysa jutted her chin out. "I _said_, you're like a human–,"

A knock sounded at the door, cutting the brewing fight short, and both girls jumped to attention.

"Are you guys okay in there?" came a voice. "We're checking on everyone after the power outage. Everything all right?"

"Thank the Wells," Nysa said, relieved. She pulled the door back to reveal a girl with a thick braid and kind eyes, holding a candle. "You rescued me! How'd you unlock the door?"

"Oh, it wasn't locked, the door was just jammed," the girl said with a reassuring smile. "Some of the mechanisms were on the fritz after the outage."

"Does anyone know when the lights will be back on?" Nysa asked.

"The crew is working on it," the girl said. "But we don't have an estimate. It was caused by one of the Blitzerren girls, and she fried the wiring pretty good."

"Hey look, this is all fine and great, but if the door is unlocked, you are free to vacate my compartment," Emiko pointed out.

Nysa bristled. "What if I don't want to? What? Is it harming you if I stay here? Huh? Is it bothering you?"

"Yes, it's harming me, your mere presence makes me want to set you and this whole train on fire, you absolute–,"

"You shouldn't talk so much," Nysa snapped. "When you open your mouth that wide, I can see the tip of the pole that's up your ass."

Emiko's face purpled with rage. "GET OUT!"

"Fine!" Nysa yelled back. "But not because you told me to!"

She stepped out and slammed the door, enraged.

"Wow," said the braid girl, her raised eyebrows nearly at her hairline. "That was… passionate."

"Sorry about that," Nysa said off-handedly, beginning to make her way to the doors to the next car. "I just met that girl, and I'm pretty sure she's my arch-nemesis. You ever met someone you just know is going to piss you off from now until the end of time?"

"Not really," the girl said with a chuckle. "I'm Cyra, I'm from Prithvi. Hopefully, I don't meet any arch-nemeses here."

"Nysa Haimbu, Haixin," she said, shooting a grin over her shoulder. "And trust me, as long as you keep being this friendly, you definitely won't find an arch-nemesis in me."

* * *

_Akira Komatsu, 20, Kaze-Han_

When the lights went out, it took Akira a second to notice. She'd had her eyes closed anyway, trying to take deep breaths to ease her motion sickness, but needless to say, when she opened her eyes, she had been quite confused.

For a moment, she blinked several times, half-convinced she hadn't even opened her eyes, to begin with. Then she became aware of the smell of something burning and glanced up reflexively at the now-broken lights. That was technology for you, she supposed. So breakable.

If the steady chug of the wheels wasn't obvious, they were still in motion, so that was a small relief. Luckily the steam engine didn't require electricity, or that would have been fried too, and then they'd all be stranded somewhere under the Atan Mountains. A knock sounded at the compartment door, and she stood up to open it.

A crew member in a pale grey uniform stood outside with a candle burning in a dish and a grimace. "Apologies, Miss Akira, the crew is working very hard to resolve the matter of the lights," the man said. "Please keep this candle for light until we can solve it. Thank you."

"Oh, thank you." Akira reached out to take it, but just as she touched it, the train heaved, and they both stumbled.

"Begging your pardon, I believe I'm needed in the conductor's car," the crew member blurted out, once they'd both regained their footing. He hurried off, not noticing that he'd left a box on the floor.

"Oh, sir!" she called after him. "You forgot your–!"

But he had already disappeared into the next car, and her cries fell on deaf ears. She sighed and bent down to search the box, hoping it wasn't important.

"Everything alright out here?"

Akira looked up to find a kind-looking girl with a thick braid. "Oh! Yeah. One of the crew members just left the box of candles here when he went back to the front."

"They stopped passing out candles?" the girl said, frowning. "What about all the girls in the next cars?"

"I don't know," Akira said honestly. "I guess they're in the dark for now."

"We should help them," the girl decided. "If we each take a couple of unlit candles, we can use our own to light them. I don't want the others just to sit in the dark."

"That's a good idea," Akira agreed. She passed a couple of fistfuls of candles and candle dishes from the box to the other girl and put a bunch in her own pockets.

"I'm Cyra, by the way," the girl said as Akira stood up. "Of Prithvi."

"Akira," she replied with a smile. "Kaze-Han."

"Okay, Akira, why don't I start from the last car, and you start with the next car, and we'll work towards each other?" Cyra suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed. They parted ways, and Akira began knocking on the compartment doors.

The first couple of compartments were fine. She encountered two Mortefierro girls who were happily lighting up their own compartments, as well as one of the poised Haixin girls. Two of the Lumetierre girls sat together, lighting themselves up, while the third gratefully took a candle. Everyone seemed friendly, which gave Akira a little hope. Even though this was technically a competition, she wasn't emotionally prepared to be in a den of wolves for the next few months. Luckily, everyone else seemed to have a similar intention of at least feigning civility.

"No problem," she cheerfully told one of the other Kaze-Han girls as she closed the compartment door behind her. She was running out of candles, but she figured she could still get to three or four compartments.

Akira stepped into the bridge between this car and the next one, and strode into the next car, only to be met by the sound of metal biting through the air. On instinct, her hands flew up, and a gust of wind knocked the object off-course, where it was headed for her throat. The flame of her candle blew out, and she dropped it to fend off her attacker.

"What are you doing?" she yelped, narrowly avoiding another slash with a forceful wind push. "Is that a sword?"

She heard a harsh command in a language she didn't understand but recognized as Haixinese.

"I don't know what you're saying," Akira cried in Vere. "I don't speak Haixinese."

"What are you doing on this train?" the girl demanded in a cold voice. "Who sent you here?"

"I'm a Selected!" she protested. "Can you stop attacking me, now?"

To her surprise, the girl actually stopped. Akira was honestly just impressed she could see anything at all in this dark. In the dim half-light, she could see that her blade had not been lowered, and gulped.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" the girl asked, her voice even.

"What do you mean, how do you know?" Akira exhaled a disbelieving laugh. "Why would I lie about that? How do you think I got on this train?"

"Hold on." This time her blade really did lower. "We're not being attacked by train-jackers?"

Akira squinted into the darkness, perplexed. "You thought we were being attacked?"

"The lights went out," the girl defended. "I heard footsteps to the back of the train to secure the perimeter. These are classic train-jacking tactics. And it's not like we're a low-profile group."

Akira sighed as her heart rate finally began to regulate. "Let me assure you, we're not being attacked. The lights just went out."

"So what are you doing here, then?" Eleven Wells, this girl was paranoid.

"I was passing out candles to those who needed them." She held one up for proof, even though it could barely be seen.

"Without a flame?"

"You blew it out when you attacked me."

On cue, light flooded back into the hallway, and they both looked up at the skylight. Looked like they had just emerged from the tunnel. In the new light, Akira could see her companion in full detail, as well as the gleaming curved sword she held loosely with old practice. She tried not to take a step back.

The girl hummed thoughtfully. There was a rasp of steel, as the blade was stowed away. "Well, I suppose I don't have a reason not to believe you. Sorry about the sword. I'm Lian."

"Akira, and it's alright," she heard herself saying faintly. "No harm, no foul."

As she was saying it, she suddenly felt a hot trickle down her cheek, and she gingerly reached up to touch it. Her fingers came away scarlet.

"Okay, well, some harm," she amended. "I guess you got me after all."

"Sorry," Lian said mildly. Akira wasn't sure she was sorry at all, but she didn't sound malicious either. "I might have something in my bag for that."

Akira followed her to the end of the car, wincing at the sting of the cut on her cheek, and trying to wipe away some of the disproportionately copious amounts of blood. That was head wounds for you.

They had just reached the last compartment when the door to the next car swung open. Before Akira could even blink, the sword was back and on a deadly downward path towards the newcomer.

"Lian, no!" she shouted. Somehow, through some superhuman show of reflexes, the sword adjusted its course and stopped dead at the new girl's throat. Akira tried to remember how to breathe again, a hand clutched to her chest.

"First Well!" the other girl gasped, her blue eyes wide. "You nearly took my nose off!"

"I told you, we're not being attacked!" Akira scolded. "Put the sword away!"

"Do you know this girl?" Lian demanded. When Akira shook her head, Lian turned back to the girl. "Are you responsible for the lights going out?"

"Um, well, actually yes–,"

"LIAN, NO!" Akira shouted again, and this time, she grabbed Lian's elbow as she swung back with her sword. Lian glanced back at her, her expression curious.

"What are you doing? She just said she was responsible for the train-jacking," Lian said, puzzled.

"Train-jacking?" the other girl squeaked, starting backward.

"Can you even give her a moment to explain herself?" Akira admonished. "Look at her, she's not a threat!"

"I'm really not," the girl agreed hurriedly. "The lights were a fluke."

"So you did put out the lights?" Akira asked, looking at her. She didn't let go of Lian's sword arm, wary of more snap judgments the over-eager girl might make. "Why?"

"I lost control," the girl said miserably. "Sorry, um, I'm Celestina, I'm from Blitzerren, and I just… accidentally blew the fuses. I swear, I didn't mean to."

"We believe you," Akira said soothingly. She gave Lian a stern look, and the warrior girl rolled her eyes, sheathing her sword again.

"Are you bleeding?" Celestina said, her eyes wide and concerned. Akira hastily reached up to catch the droplets rolling down her jaw.

"It's okay, it's not a deep cut," she assured her. "I'm fine."

Actually, it hurt fairly badly, and the sight of the rusty-red drying on her hands wasn't doing wonders for her constitution. She was starting to feel a little motion-sick again, or was that just dizziness from the cut?

"Oh, hang on." Lian disappeared into her compartment for a moment and then reappeared with a roll of cloth. "I usually use this stuff to wrap my knuckles, but it should work."

"Thanks." Akira pressed it to her cheek, trying not to think about how the cloth almost immediately went sticky with absorbed blood.

"You look kind of pale," Celestina said nervously. "Maybe you should sit down for a second."

"No, I'm fine," she repeated weakly. Actually, this was a lot of blood, now that she was thinking about it.

"Take a seat, Akira," Lian said firmly. "You look like you're about to keel over."

She hesitated, head swimming. "Well, maybe just for a second."

Akira took a step and promptly swooned right into Lian's arms. The last thing she heard was Celestina's scream, and rapid footsteps approaching. She dizzily hoped Lian didn't kill anyone while she was out, and then succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

_Crown Prince Silas Gaffrey_

"We're going to meet the Selection at the station, not attending a gala," Silas reminded Fitz, who was alternating between holding two equally outrageous suit options up to himself in the mirror.

"You never get a second chance to make a first impression," Fitz quoted sagely. "Do you like the butterflies or the backless one?"

"You're not wearing a backless suit to meet my Selected," Silas told him flatly. "I absolutely forbid it."

"Boo, you're no fun," Fitz said, sticking his tongue out at Silas in the mirror. He sighed, returned the backless one to his closet. "Butterflies it is, then."

Silas gave up on arguing. Fitz had always had a… unique taste in fashion, to say the least. Silas applauded his bravery because one certainly had to have quite a bit of courage to pull off the things Fitz managed to. Not all of them were awful, but the ones that were, well… they were scarring, to say the least.

"Cheer up, Si, at least he's not wearing the Technicolor Nightmare," Madi pointed out. Silas briefly checked out from the conversation, as he had flashbacks to that fashion hate crime. He and Madi gagged in unison.

"A monstrosity," Silas agreed with a shudder. "I didn't even know that many colors could exist on one man."

"I'll have you know I'm just waiting for another opportunity to wear it again," Fitz said haughtily. "You're just jealous because I upstaged you at your own birthday ball."

"What about the Flaming Flamingo Suit?" Anliu spoke up, from where he was lounging on the couch in the corner. "That has to be Fitz's worst decision."

Silas thought fondly about said hot mess. It had been a truly alarming shade of hot pink which had looked striking on the Prithvian model who wore it at the fashion show and proceeded to look like absolute shit on Fitz after he purchased it to wear to some charity event.

"It was couture," Fitz snapped. "Not that any of you would know anything about that. Go on, keep wearing your drab blacks and greys. Ooh, maybe if you're feeling spicy, you'll wear _blue_! Or is that too much for you cowards?"

"Mock the drab colors as much as you like," Silas said dryly, "–but it's very difficult to go wrong in them."

"I'm a pioneer," Fitz sniffed, pulling the butterfly-emblazoned suit jacket on. "You're all just jealous."

"Better hurry up, pioneer," Anliu advised, smoothly checking his watch. "We're leaving in three minutes."

Fitz cursed and hurried to shimmy into his matching pants. In a record-breaking amount of time, he raked some product through his hair, slid a few silver rings on, and smudged a little eye paint on.

"Alright," he said with a final once-over of his reflection. "I'm ready."

On cue, Faris knocked on the door and poked his head in. "Time to go. If you're ready, the carriages are waiting downstairs."

He made to leave, and then turned back to add, "Hey, Fitz, nice suit."

Fitz lit up with a beam as the rest of them groaned in unison. "Ha! See! See! _Thank_ you, Faris, you have impeccable taste! You see, boys? Faris likes it."

"Shut up," Silas grumbled, balling up his discarded shirt and throwing it at him. "And Faris, you shouldn't encourage him."

"Just calling it like I see it," Faris said, shrugging. "At least it's not the technicolor one."

Fitz promptly went beet-red and crossed his arms. "Okay, it really wasn't that bad, you guys are exaggerating."

When they all looked away, scratching their necks and whistling innocently, he looked around indignantly. "Hey! It wasn't that bad! ...Right? Right? Hey, answer me, was it that bad?"

...

The ride to the station was short, and soon they were all standing on the platform, weathering the brisk wind that whipped around them. Silas almost wished he'd brought an overcoat or something, and hunched his shoulders against the breeze.

"Here they come," Faris murmured, and Silas's gaze snapped up.

The trains were barrelling in from both directions, and Silas's heart jumped into his throat. This was it. Once the girls arrived, he could no longer pretend this wasn't happening. Somewhere among these thirty girls, his future wife was waiting. The thought terrified and fascinated him in equal parts.

As they slowed to a stop, everyone on the platform seemed to straighten.

"Are you sucking in?" Madi hissed at Fitz.

There was an affronted sputter in response. "No! Shut up!"

"He is," Anliu confirmed, amused.

"I'm going to throttle you both in the carriage," Fitz muttered darkly.

Something about the little interaction comforted Silas, and he took a deep breath. On his left, Faris gently knocked the back of his hand against Silas', and sent him a reassuring smile when he glanced over.

The doors on either side opened at the same time, and there was a quiet rustle as everyone tried to see the Selected who emerged.

From the first train, the girls stepped out, looking like the picture of composed poise. Each of them had an air of dignity, of assurance. He heard the breath whoosh out of Fitz's lungs, and even Madi marveled softly under his breath. Some of them were downright intimidating.

Silas turned to see the girls from the second train. The first few had the same silent confidence and magnetizing auras. One of them was so beautiful Silas could barely look away from her. But then they kept coming, and–

"Why is she wet?" Fitz whispered, as one of the girls stepped out with wet hair, her expression like iron.

"Better question, why is she bleeding?" Madi pointed out, and Silas turned to see a pale girl holding a bloody wad of fabric to her face, supported by two other girls.

"That car is leaking," Anliu pointed out, and sure enough, car number seven appeared to be filled with an inch or two of water that was slowly dribbling onto the rails.

A murmur started up across the platform as the girls stood in front of them, in various states of disarray. Some of the girls had hair that looked like they'd stuck their fingers directly onto a live wire, and it floated around them, frazzled. Silas couldn't conceal his bewilderment as he took them in.

"What in the First Well happened here?"

**.**

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**Review if you want to! Sending love and prosperity to you all!**

**Also I really hope my humor translated because I'm not always sure that it does haha. See you in the next one~**


	8. Testing the Waters

**At long last, here it is. Let the record show that first impressions are a bitch. let the record also show that this chapter is due almost entirely to my lovely beta and all-around good person, sevenzeroseven, who whipped my ass into high gear and beta'd all 7.8k words of what used to be garbage. Through her, this chapter was made into something readable, so mad props for that!**

**Also! If you look on my pinterest board (** ww w . pinterest [dotcom]/ octaviastareyes/cog-characters/tributes-art-shitposts-incorrect-quotes-etc/**) there's a new section called tributes, featuring original art from myself and the fandom's treasure, Altomi, of the cast. There's also some fun shitposting so check that out. Again—and I cannot stress this enough—Altomi is a gift to us all and her art is SUPER COOL. If anyone makes any art or memes or incorrect quotes, feel free to send them to me over discord (Octavia#7661) and I'll put them up on the pinterest!**

**And now, without further ado:**

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_Evana Renshaw, 19, Coranzorre_

The platform was blindingly bright as Evana stepped outside for the first time in several hours. She blinked hard and rubbed her eyes as they adjusted, shaking off her sleepiness. She'd tried her hardest to stay vigilant on the train ride, but by the fourth hour, even her unending willpower had ebbed and she'd been lulled into drowsiness. Now she stretched and felt some of her energy come back, as she peered around to take in the scene.

"This is so exciting," someone whispered behind her. Evana tensed as she was jostled by one of the other girls, but kept listening. "I can't believe we're actually in Verelys! Look, there's the prince!"

Her attention zeroed on said prince, distinguishable from the others around him by the glinting glass crown on his head. He stood with immaculate posture in his palace-tailored suit, the picture of perfection, but he looked tense, coiled tight as a spring. His foot tapped on the ground at a rabbit's pace, and his eyes kept scanning the crowd of girls as they stepped off the train, sweeping back and forth. Evana wondered what he was expecting from them—based on the tension lining his stance, an attack. The thought amused her. Cute.

The boys standing around him didn't escape her analysis either. She recognized them as some of the sons of the primors, though she noticed Coranzorre's heir was not present. None of them particularly interested her, although she caught Lumetierre's heir staring at her for a moment too long before his gaze moved on. Interesting.

Evana slouched a little to avoid being noticed as she carefully observed the rest of the royals. The princess instantly commanded attention in her pantsuit and haughty scowl, while the second prince seemed to fade into the background, his blank expression as distant as his gaze. Notably, the king and queen, as well as the third prince, were all absent.

_Not quite a perfect family_, she mused to herself.

The hiss of the other train's doors opening drew her attention and the girls from that train began to step onto the platform. Her eyes skated over most of them, until they snagged on a girl whose hair appeared to be soaking wet. To her surprise, another girl came out ghostly-pale with a blood-soaked wad of cloth pressed to her face and car seven's doors opened to release a deluge of water onto the tracks. Evana blinked and reassessed the group, wondering what could possibly have happened to put them all in such disarray. Her awareness of the switchblade in her waistband, warm against her skin, suddenly increased. She scanned the platform again, as if a follow-up attack would manifest out of thin air. Around her, she could hear mumbled confusion passing through the girls on her train.

"They look like they were attacked," that same girl whispered behind her. "I wonder if Darthern somehow got soldiers on their train."

_Impossible_, she almost said aloud. Then again, this Selection was a transition of power. If they were to strike anytime, they'd be prudent to do it now. _The question is, would they dare?_

"Can we get a healer out here for the lady?" The ringing command drew Evana's attention back to the royals.

Contrary to what she'd expected, it was the lord of Prithvi who strode forward without hesitation. The platform erupted into motion at his words, but Evana stopped watching, instead keenly searching the crown prince who appeared to have frozen while all his companions set off in opposite directions.

Prince Silas made a motion as if he was going to move as well, but then he faltered and glanced around for any observers of his indecision. Like he could sense her curiosity, his pale eyes snapped to hers almost guiltily before his eyes narrowed and he straightened back into that statuesquely impassive stance.

Now wasn't the time to challenge him, so she glanced away, affecting distraction. In her peripheral vision, she watched him study her for a moment longer, before gathering himself with a deep breath and going to approach the conductor of the other train. For a prince, he was astonishingly easy to read. Transparent as all of his glass.

"Excuse me?"

She turned to the sound of the voice, surprised to be addressed. It was one of the other Coranzorre girls, the one with that pompous lift to her chin and all that glittering jewelry. The sight of so much entitled luxury on one person made her fingers twitch.

"You're Evana Renshaw, aren't you?" The girl said with a tight smile. "Melissandre LeRoi. High Priestess."

"I'm not religious," she said by way of reply, narrowing her eyes. "What do you want?"

Melissandre's perfect forehead wrinkled just slightly in an elegant imitation of puzzlement. "I just thought to introduce myself. You walked off so quickly on the platform, we didn't have a chance to meet."

"And you didn't think that might be on purpose, huh?" she said, amused. Melissandre recoiled in offense, like she'd been struck, and Evana chuckled. "Whatever, hot stuff. Since I didn't make it obvious enough, I don't really want anything to do with you, and I'm not going to be your friend."

The priestess's face went ice-cold, and her lip curled with derision. If Evana had been more easily intimidated, she might have shrunken back at the transformation that had settled over her.

"I didn't ask you to be my friend. For Coranzorre's sake, I thought we might ally," Melissandre snapped. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down the slope of her perfect nose down at Evana. When she spoke, her tone dripped with disdain: "Now I see I was foolish for thinking someone like _you_ could be a team player. I apologize for bothering you. It won't happen again."

Evana opened her mouth to shoot something cutting back, but Melissandre spun on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, skirts swirling. There was a brief moment where Evana felt a flash of fire low in her gut. Her awareness of Melissandre's blood heightened and her fingers flexed. Just before she did something she regretted, Evana caught herself and reluctantly clamped down on the snarling beast under her skin.

_Cool it,_ she told herself. _Be patient._

With her temper dialed down to a low simmer, Evana turned her attention back to the action, hoping she hadn't missed anything crucial.

"Attention, Selected," Princess Stelle spoke up imperiously. Her voice floated above the crowd, quieting the commotion. "Welcome to Verelys. My name is Princess Stelle and I will be organizing the events of the Selection. You will now be taken back to the castle. Please line up in an orderly fashion and prepare to board a carriage. We can fit four per carriage."

Evana fell into step with the other girls from her train, trying to remain inconspicuous. Yet again, she mused to herself, someone had handled the crown prince's business for him and he hadn't done anything about it. She had much to digest on the ride back to the palace.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the prince and his posse briefly converse, before they drifted apart, each one finding a place in the line to the carriage.

"This way, please," a faceless guard said, ushering her forward when she strayed too far to the left in her distraction.

Somehow she found herself close to the front of the parade of Selected. She tried to melt back into the throng, hoping to catch a carriage with one of the royal sons, but instead a footman grabbed her hand and helped her step into the carriage. Before she knew what was happening, she was sitting in a carriage with three other girls and the vehicle was picking up speed.

Evana ground her teeth. _Damnit._

Looking around her new surroundings, she tried to reorient herself and gather her thoughts. Who would be the first one to speak, she wondered. The silence was deafening as they all sized each other up.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" The brunette next to her blurted out. Evana almost startled at the abrupt comment. "You're the girl who was bleeding, right?"

"Oh, um, I'm fine," the girl across from her said with a brief smile. "It was a shallow cut. Akira, by the way. I'm Akira, Kaze-han."

"Nysa, Haixin," the girl replied with a grin. Evana eyed Nysa's arms, rippling with muscle. Some kind of laborer, probably. Farmer. _No, wait,_ Evana corrected as she caught a whiff of something distinctly salty and scolded herself for not realizing it earlier. _Fisherman._

Nysa glanced over at Evana and the other girl. "And you guys are…?"

"Celestina," she supplied quietly, peering out from behind her curly hair. "Blitzerren."

The Blitzerren girl—with her poise and expensive silks—was easy to place: nobleman's daughter. Maybe even a primor's daughter, although she didn't look much like the primor of Blitzerren as she remembered him. Didn't look like much of a fighter, either. The lean muscle she possessed looked more like a dancer's, and besides, with that shy demeanor, she didn't look like she'd be lashing out anytime soon.

The other three looked expectantly to her and Evana hesitated. She wasn't trying to be super buddy-buddy with these girls, but it wouldn't play well to get aggressive, especially during first impressions. She could at least feign civility until she got the information she needed.

"Evana Renshaw, from Coranzorre." She didn't miss how the others stiffened at the announcement of her nation and mentally jotted it down. To their credit, Nysa and Akira both recovered smoothly. Celestina continued to stare at her with reserved alarm and Evana toyed with the prospect of baring her teeth to scare her off.

"It's nice to meet you all," Akira said with a graceful smile. She looked polished for someone so young. Politician's daughter, Evana guessed. Or some kind of high-ranking background. That kind of porcelain expression was something she'd encountered often, and it only came from years of practice. Her figure was slender and soft. Not a fighter.

So none of them were warriors. Interesting.

"Hang on," Evana drawled, studying the other three. "Kaze-han, Haixin, and Blitzerren. So you guys were all on the other train. What happened over there?"

Upon hearing the question, Celestina slouched in her seat, her hair covering even more of her face, while Akira and Nysa exchanged a tentative look. Akira's eyes darted back to Celestina, almost as if she was checking in.

"You can say it," Celestina said miserably, avoiding eye contact. "It's not like everyone's not gonna know by the end of the day."

"There was a small," Akira delicately cleared her throat, "—mishap on our journey here."

Evana cocked her head, waiting for elaboration.

"There was an, er, unplanned blackout while we were crossing under the Atan Mountains," Nysa explained sheepishly, glancing at Celestina. "When the lights went out, some accidents happened."

It only took a second for Evana to connect the dots between Celestina's nervous tugging at her earlobes and what she was hearing. When she realized, she barked out a laugh, unable to help herself. Celestina slumped a little lower in her seat, pulling her hair over her face.

"Everyone probably hates me," Celestina mumbled. "I didn't even mean to do it."

"No one hates you," Akira said, reaching over to pat her knee while Nysa winced in sympathy. "They might be a bit confused, but I'm sure they'll understand."

"That's priceless." Evana grinned wolfishly. "I say good on you, kid. Way to establish your dominance before you even got here."

"Establish d—? No! That's not what it was," Celestina yelped, sitting back up. "I swear, it was an accident. I just lost control and accidentally blew the fuses, I swear I didn't mean to get anyone hurt and I wasn't trying to establish anything."

Her words adopted a breathless edge to them as the pitch of her voice climbed higher and higher. Evana raised her eyebrows; the girl looked like she was on the verge of panicking. The air had suddenly become thick with something crackling and sharp.

"Chill," she told Celestina, frowning. And then, because she was feeling generous towards the younger girl, she advised, "You should take this as an opportunity. The other girls will be freaked out by the amount of power you have. Use it to your advantage. "

"I didn't want to get anyone hurt," Celestina repeated shakily, like she hadn't heard a word Evana said. She seemed fragile, Evana noted. Unconfident, volatile, and overly apologetic. That was good news. Even with whatever grace or agility her dancer (?) training provided, she probably wasn't going to be a threat.

"Calm down, Celestina," Nysa said kindly. The look she shot Evana was unmistakably stern and she smirked back. "Evana was joking. No one thinks you were trying to establish dominance."

Evana shrugged, leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed. "Even if they did, who cares? What are they even going to do?"

"I guess." Celestina didn't look convinced, but she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and the prickly tension in the room eased. Still, Nysa and Akira both pinned Evana with considering glances, as if they were reassessing her. She lifted her chin to challenge them, but they both glanced away, Nysa a bit slower than Akira. Evana made another mental note.

"What do you think will happen when we reach the palace?" Akira spoke up, smoothly glossing over the hiccup in the flow of conversation. "I wish they'd told us more about the plan before we left."

"Hopefully they'll give us time to settle in," Nysa said, frowning just a little. "I wasn't even told what this competition was about, they just told me to pack my bags and go."

"It was the same for me," Akira agreed, brow knitting. "So what exactly are we doing in Verelys?"

Privately, Evana was almost completely sure that the tournament would involve fighting, especially in the context of her personal selection. The primor wouldn't have picked her if it wasn't related to bloodsport; she wasn't a safe bet in a long-term romantic competition.

But Evana hadn't forgotten why she was here, so she opted not to offer any of her thoughts. Instead, she just scoffed. "Maybe the prince will just speed-date us all until he finds his match."

Celestina's eyes widened. "Do you really think so? My mother said the last Selection was like that."

"Oh Wells, I hope not," Nysa said with a grimace. "I mean, is that even humane? Getting all of us to fall in love with him and then just being thrown to the side when he picks one?"

"Who says we're even going to fall in love with him?" Akira chimed in quietly and Evana actually grunted in agreement. "They literally just had our primors select us for our merit. But is anyone voluntarily here to find love?"

No one said anything, and Evana suddenly felt a twinge of kinship with the other girls. It might have been called an emotion for any other person, but she quickly quashed it. That wasn't why she was here.

"Well, whatever happens," Nysa said, slightly subdued, "—only one can win."

"Only one," Akira agreed. "I just hope we all escape the process unscathed."

Evana's finger idly traced the outline of the switchblade pressed against her skin and thought to herself with grim resignation, _Not likely._

* * *

_Crown Prince Silas Gaffrey_

When Silas suggested splitting up to sit in the carriages with the Selected rather than riding back together, he'd been thinking purely from a strategic standpoint. He knew he needed to try and get a feel of some of the girls, and dividing the Core Four was the most efficient way to do it. It was a good and princely solution to the problem, one he was admittedly somewhat proud of. He'd felt like he needed to make up for his gaffe back on the platform, and this seemed like the perfect idea at the time.

What he didn't think of, however, was just how to make conversation with said girls once he was trapped in a carriage with three of them for twenty minutes.

"Your Highness," the blonde sitting across from him practically purred, as the carriage began to pick up speed. "Kandice Lior, Blitzerren! It's so nice to meet you."

He coughed and tried not to show the fluster he felt at her almost predatory stare. "Miss Kandice. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Of course, Lady Anastasia, it's nice to see you again."

The Hildekant girl acknowledged him with a courtesy dip of her chin and an imperceptible smile. Her steady grey-lavender eyes never wavered, with their thousand-yard-stare that seemed to cut him to the bone.

She had always kind of unnerved him, despite how little they saw of each other. Since Lady Anastasia had officially been pushed to the wayside when it came to the title of heir, Silas had pretty much stopped seeing her altogether. As it was now, they hadn't been acquainted well, and it had been many years since he'd had to face that intimidatingly blank mask she seemed to wear all the time. He couldn't really say he was enjoying it now.

Silas glanced away from her, ignoring the goosebumps breaking out across his arms, and turning to the final girl. "And I don't believe we've met, Miss…?"

"Ember," she finished brightly. "No need for the Miss, just Ember is okay. Mortefierro."

"Nice to meet you."

Her cheerful grin warmed him somewhat, but the iciness coming off Kandice and Anastasia in waves practically drowned her sunny aura. Still, he decided he liked her. Something about her reminded him of Madi a little bit; it was that same steady approachability.

"So, Your Highness," Kandice spoke up, her narrowed eyes darting between Ember and Silas, "—is there anything you can hint about what comes next? Perhaps give us a little spoiler about your plans for us?"

Silas had been called dense more than one time in his day, but even he couldn't miss the way she stared into his eyes, a coy smile playing at her lips. He shifted under her intense focus. Luckily, he was saved from replying when Ember chuckled.

"C'mon now, what's the fun in that?" She said playfully, arching an eyebrow. "Anyway, he probably couldn't even tell us if he wanted to. There's, like, rules and stuff, right?"

Silas blinked when he realized she was asking him and hurried to agree. "Yeah. Lots of rules. Can't give anything away that would let you guys have an advantage, sorry."

Kandice adopted a sulky pout. "Bo-ring. You can't even tell us what will happen when we get there? Please, Your Highness?"

Silas glanced at the faces around the carriage; Ember, whose smile was giving way to a frown, Lady Anastasia, who gazed distantly out the window, and Kandice, who looked up through her lashes with imploring eyes.

"No spoilers," he reiterated firmly, though he tacked on a smile to soften the statement.

There was the briefest disconnect in Kandice's expression like it was resetting, and then she suddenly smiled amicably in return.

"How noble of you. You have such honor, Your Highness. Alright, I understand. Can't blame a girl for trying." She scoffed. "I don't think I need the head start anyway."

That took Silas off his guard. "Ah...Um. I see."

Kandice tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I don't mean to be blunt, Your Highness, please don't misunderstand. It's just that... some of the girls here aren't quite up to snuff."

The air stilled and stretched taut as a drum. Even Lady Anastasia looked over, her strange pale eyes dissecting. Silas's skin prickled with unease as the air cooled and heated on opposite sides. His eyes slid from Ember to Anastasia as the air pooled with magic.

"What do you mean by that?" Ember said slowly, her mouth slanted and pinched tight.

Kandice looked around at them and laughed lightly, her eyes twinkling like they were sharing a joke. "I'm just saying, you all know about the power outage on our train, right? I was there when it happened. One of the other Blitzerren girls just suddenly went psycho and shorted out the whole place."

Silas frowned. "Really? Unprovoked?"

"It was so strange," Kandice said, shrugging. "I don't know what happened. Anyway, I truly don't mean any offense, Your Highness, I just think you should know what you're getting into."

The air temperature fluctuated to hot as Ember's forehead puckered. Silas glanced over to see her cheeks flooding with color.

"Listen," she started, an undercurrent of anger in her voice, "—I don't know who that girl is, but don't you think it's rude to say that about her? You don't know what was going on at the time.

"I wasn't being rude," Kandice responded, her voice clipped. "I'm just stating a fact. That was what happened."

"Now, hang on, let's just chill out," Silas said hesitantly, even as the air around Ember seemed to shimmer.

"I don't believe you. Nobody would just suddenly lose it like that," Ember accused, her eyes burning defiantly. "You're lying."

"I don't know what you mean," Kandice dismissed, crossing her arms. She shot Silas a bored look, like, _can you believe this?_

He wondered if she really thought she was going to find an ally in him. Who was this girl, anyway? Who did she think she was? What kind of person's first instinct was to start talking shit about someone else just to make them look bad? He wasn't going to forget her behavior in the future. She might not be eliminated now, but she certainly had improved her chances.

Silas inadvertently found his eyes drawn to Lady Anastasia's pale ones. Despite her crisply cold facade, there was the tiniest wrinkle of disgust around her eyes. Silas was just surprised to detect a human emotion on her face. Ember had sunken into a wordless glower aimed at Kandice, who ignored her, only periodically pausing to shoot her sulky death glares. For his part, Silas had never been so uncomfortable in his life.

He spent several moments trying to morph into Fitz or Madi out of sheer willpower in order to figure out what exactly to say to break the silence. He imagined what they might say if they were here, bringing all their easy charisma.

Fitz would definitely try to flirt with all of them. Silas almost grimaced. Yeah, he definitely couldn't pull that one off. What would Madi do? Probably just beam in that friendly way of his and exude that accommodating energy that just rolled off him so effortlessly. Sadly, Silas was severely lacking in that department. Now, if you asked him to hit people or break things, he was all over it. Conversation, not so much.

He became faintly aware of the background noise rising in volume, which distinguished itself into clamoring voices. The noise of a crowd made him tense, but Silas was just relieved he didn't have to be the one to address the silence.

"What's that?" Ember asked, craning her head toward the window. "Do you guys hear that?"

"People, obviously," Kandice snapped.

Silas glanced stonily at her before turning to Ember, adding, "It's probably the people of Verelys gathering to watch the carriages go by. Try to just smile and wave."

The carriage made a smooth turn, and the volume of the crowd buried the jingle of the bridles on the horses, as well as the rhythmic clip-clop of their hooves. Instead, they heard screaming and shouting overlapping incoherently from outside. Beside him, Ember started as she heard her name called.

"They must have officially released the list of names this morning," he explained when she looked quizzically at him. "Some people might have some fans already."  
Ember beamed a megawatt grin. "Do you guys mind if we open the windows?"

"Be my guest," Silas said, shrugging.

There was the possibility of it being a security issue but he was more than confident in his ability to shut down an attack, and besides, who would be attacking them out here in plain daylight?

"PHOENIX!" Someone bellowed from outside. They hooked their thumbs together and splayed their fingers in an imitation of wings. "BURN IT UP!"

"You know I will," she yelled back, conjuring a smile from Silas. She mimicked the hand sign, but the bases of her fingers ignited with a brief flame that danced up the length of her fingers before disappearing.

At her response, the crowd swelled in volume, uproarious with approval and a desperation to be recognized by someone involved in the famed Selection. Cries of "Phoenix!" and "Ember!" multiplied, and Ember stuck her head out the window to shout back, grinning wildly.

On the other side of the carriage, the drapes had been pulled back and Lady Anastasia was nodding and waving serenely at the onlookers with the tiniest controlled smile. This side of the crowd was no less enthusiastic, although Silas wondered if they knew who she truly was—that she was a white wolf of Vinterbroste.

"You're beautiful!" One girl yelled at her as they passed. "You look like the Snow Queen!"

Lady Anastasia's stilted smile thawed a little at that, and the crowd seemed to coo as one, showering her with more praise. But one voice surged louder than the rest, a deep ringing baritone:

"_Lang lebe die Eiszeit_!" The people around him gradually joined in until the phrase was rebounding all around them.

"What does that mean?" Silas asked, when she looked bemused.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she contemplated her answer. "It's… a saying of sorts, in my country. A rallying cry."

"It means long live the Ice Age," Kandice said with a sneer. "Since Vinterbroste thinks they're better than the rest of us."

Lady Anastasia leveled a look at her that chilled Silas to the bone. _We are_, it seemed to say. However, rather than voicing it, she said simply, "It is a show of support, there is no ulterior motive."

"Exactly," Ember added as she ducked back into the carriage, slightly windblown. "Like my fans say 'burn it up' to show they support me. Slogan buddies, nice!"

She held up her hand for a high five but Lady Anastasia just looked at her with puzzled distaste.

Ember recovered with a laugh and just patted Anastasia's knee. "We'll get there."

"Prince Silas!" he heard called from the outside. "We love you!"

When he looked for the source of the cry, he saw a group of young girls holding signs painted with the words 'We Love Silas Gaffrey'. He felt the heat climb up his neck and ears, but smiled at them anyway, inciting a chorus of shrieking.

"Seems like we're not the only ones with fans," Ember noted, eyes crinkling.

"I mean, this is Verelys, they see me pretty often, I don't know why they always make a big deal of it," Silas said somewhat bashfully, subtly covering his burning ears. "I've actually seen those specific girls a few times. I think they lead my fan club."

"That's crazy." Ember shook her head a few times. "I can't believe you have a teenage fanclub. What a heartthrob, eh?"

The carriage groaned a little as they rounded a bend, and then the conversation halted as the looming silhouette of Castle Verelys came into view. Everyone, even Lady Anastasia, peered out the window to catch a glimpse of it. In the afternoon sun, the gleaming golden embellishments flashed and the imposing white walls almost blinded them. The pennants at the top of every twisting tower flapped lazily on the early summer breeze, emblazoned with the fist-and-shield crest of House Gaffrey.

"Whoa," breathed Ember, and even Kandice seemed to reluctantly agree.

Silas didn't wait for a footman. He opened the door and hopped down, before turning to look back at the girls. They hesitated in their seats for a moment, teetering on the threshold.

It was funny. All the way along, he'd been alternating between dreading the arrival of this day, resenting his father for forcing this upon him, and worrying about the possible outcomes. Now that he was looking his Selection in the face, it hardly felt real. Nothing was as black and white as it had been before. Silas took a deep breath to collect himself and then extended a hand to help them down, smiling wryly.

"Welcome to Castle Verelys."

* * *

_Victoria Edison-Verne, 18, Alunde_

"Excuse me, ladies, do you mind if I cut into the queue here?"

Victoria turned to size up the newcomer who'd spoken. But instead of finding a face, she found herself making eye contact with the stranger's tie pin. Undeterred, she looked up and up and up until her head was tipped completely back to look into a pair of very friendly brown eyes. Her jaw had dropped somewhere on the way to her destination, and, without thinking, she found herself blurting out:

"Third Well! You're bloody colossal!"

Luisa made choked sputtering noise in apparent agreement (—or was it scandalized shock? Victoria couldn't quite tell. She wondered if she'd just committed a social faux pas). Luckily, Tall-Dark-and-Handsome didn't seem at all fazed by her bluntness.

"Thank you," he beamed good-naturedly. "My name is Madi, it's a pleasure."

"Victoria Edison-Verne," she answered brightly, "and this is Luisa. We're Alundish."

Luisa, who had recovered from her fit, waved weakly.

"That wouldn't be Luisa Pagel, would it?" he asked, tilting his head.

"It is," she replied, looking bewildered. "Er, how—?"

"You designed my cousin's engagement ring," he said, smiling. "Devika Kshatriya?"

"Oh!" Luisa startled, her hand leaping up to shield her mouth. "Lord Kshatriya! I'm so sorry, I didn't realize. Silly of me."

Victoria, too, did a double take. She supposed he did look quite lordly. It was befitting of nobility to be so statuesque. She just hadn't expected the warmth in his eyes and the easiness of his blinding smile.

"Ah, no need to bother with titles, Miss Pagel, Madi is fine."

She flushed slightly. "In that case, just Luisa, then."

Madi turned to Victoria. "And Miss Edison-Verne, may I—?"

"Just how tall are you?" she inquired suddenly. He looked taken aback by her abruptness, but she just patiently waited for an answer.

"Six foot four," he replied, amused. "And you are?"

"Five foot two," she said, putting her hands on her hips. She added musingly, "I don't mind being short most often. It's only that you're so bloody tall, I'm straining my neck just looking at you."

Madi's head tipped back as he laughed in response, a jolly, resonant sound. The line to the carriages shuffled forward and Victoria idly stuck her hands into her pockets as she ambled along, Madi and Luisa keeping pace.

"So, how has your experience been so far?" Madi asked them. "Was the journey unpleasant?"

Luisa and Victoria exchanged a brief glance.

"I'd say it hasn't been too bad," Luisa offered. "It's a bit overwhelming."

"I think it's exciting," Victoria remarked. "We're going to meet so many new people. I'd never even seen anyone from Ethotaur until today… Although, I'm wondering now if that was perhaps for the best."

"They can be a little jarring at first," Madi agreed diplomatically.

"And rude." Victoria added flatly. She looked up at him consideringly. "But to be fair, I'd never met anyone from Prithvi either, and you're lovely."

He smelled very nice, Victoria noticed with some satisfaction. Something floral and heady she didn't recognize. Jasmine, maybe? Definitely a far cry from the smell of grease and smoke she knew often clung to her. Couldn't really be helped, with her field of work.

"Oh. Well, thank you. You're both lovely, too." Madi didn't exactly blush, but his smile adopted a quality of surprised pleasure. "You've really never met a Prithvian before? What about you, Luisa?"

Luisa shook her head. "Not really. Most other nations aren't partial to Alunde in general, what with all the technology, but especially Prithvi. It's the lack of living things, I think."

"Which is silly," Victoria countered belligerently. "Machines are plenty alive, certainly as much as water or fire."

The distrust of technology by other nations always got Victoria heated. Other nations always said they didn't trust it because machines weren't alive, they didn't have the spark of life that powers did. But how could they say the things that Victoria poured her soul into were lifeless hunks of metal, when she could touch her watch and feel its tiny ticking heartbeat? Each cog seemed to breathe as it turned, the teeth clicking together seamlessly like a steady pair of footsteps. Every mechanism was perfectly interlocked and functioning, just like a living thing.

Not to mention the metal itself. Each metal had a unique presence: gold was soft and buttery like summer, where iron was steadfast and bold. Titanium was bright and effortlessly cold, where copper was satin and agreeable. She could sense the smooth silver in Madi's cufflinks and tie pin from here, as well as the melodic white-gold ring around Luisa's finger, and their presences were as distinct as any person. What part of any of that was lifeless?

She was shaken from her thoughts as they came to the front of the queue and a footman opened the door to the next carriage for her. She hopped into the carriage with only a little difficulty and settled into her seat. Luisa sat next to her and Madi across from her, followed by one final girl in pink sunglasses that shaded her eyes.

The door slammed and the carriage began to move. The metal in this carriage wasn't of much note to her, just a brutish steel, so instead, she surveyed the girl in the glasses.

"Hello, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said briskly, sticking out her hand. "I'm Victoria Edison-Verne. You are?"

"Mika," the girl said, looking down at her offered hand with reservation.

"You're meant to shake it," Victoria said helpfully.

Mika did so after a second, not looking pleased about it. The others volunteered their names as well, opting not to go for the handshake.

Madi smiled warmly once introductions had been made. "So, Miss Mika, what nation are you from?"

"Ethotaur." Her eyes slid between them, daring them to comment. A sour taste entered Victoria's mouth, but she refrained from saying anything.

"And how are you finding things in the aboveground so far?" Madi asked. "A little bit different?"

"Sure, some things are different," she agreed with a shrug. "A lot more wind up here than I anticipated. A lot more light, too. But some things are the same. Cities are cities everywhere you go, I suppose. Trains, too."

"You have trains in Ethotaur?" Victoria blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Sure we do," Mika replied quizzically. "Doesn't every nation have trains?"

"Right, but—," _no one knows anything about Ethotaur, we're not even allowed in._ "How on earth do you have trains? Alunde didn't make them."

"You don't need metal magic to be able to build things," Mika said slowly, as if she were talking to a child. "We just… build them."

"What do you mean you just build them?" Victoria sputtered.

Mika sighed longsufferingly. "I don't know how to explain that other people know how to make machines, too."

"Don't condescend," she scowled, but she didn't even have time to dwell in irritation, overcome by curiosity. "Where did you even get blueprints? Where do you get the resources? How do you soften the metal, is it that old blacksmithing style? How large is the train network? Do you have other machines in Ethotaur?"

"Fifth Well, do I look like an engineer?" Mika said, nose wrinkling. "I don't know any of that. What's with all the questions?"

She bristled. "I just—,"

"She's just curious," Madi cut in smoothly. "You must know we don't get a lot of information about Ethotaur here."

"Not really my problem," Mika said with a smirk. "Don't you think we kept everything secret for a reason?"

Victoria's hands curled into fists, but Luisa laid a warning hand on her wrist with a pointed look, and she let the tension leak out of her shoulders. She absently reached for the watch in her pocket and checked the time, soothed by the weight of it in her hand.

"So, you all must be pretty excited," Madi said, clearing his throat. "How do you all feel about this Selection business?"

Victoria considered, tapping her chin. "It should prove to be entertaining, at the least. I mean, I just don't know what to expect, really."

"I think it's going to be a disaster," Mika chimed in, crossing her arms. "I mean, what in Hyalus could possibly go wrong with thirty-odd powerful girls left to their own devices as they fight for the crown?"

"You mean Silas," Madi corrected lightly, his friendly smile at odds with the intensity of his gaze. "You mean, as they fight for _Silas_."

Mika's lips curled into a sly smile. "Sure I do."

Madi's eyes lingered on her for a moment, and Victoria sensed some sort of change in the air. But it disappeared as the primor's son turned his attention to Luisa, and Victoria wondered if it had been her imagination.

"What about you, Luisa?" he encouraged, tilting his head. He almost looked like a puppy, with his big brown eyes and smile. Victoria found herself reluctantly endeared.

"I think it's sort of romantic," Luisa confessed, going pink. Around her finger, the white-gold ring stirred and changed from a serpent shape to a heart. "I just, um, I mean it sounds a bit like a fairytale, almost? I don't know, that's silly, I suppose."

"No, it's not, I totally agree," Madi beamed. "The truth is, I don't know what to expect, either. You all heard back on the platform, Princess Stelle is in charge. But she's being pretty close-lipped about everything."

Not even a primor's son close to the prince knew what was coming? Victoria couldn't help but frown at that. What kind of things was the princess planning? How could she prepare for the competition?

Her questions were drowned out by a wave of shouting that seemed to press against the glass of the windows. Curiosity piqued, Victoria abandoned her train of thought in favor of craning her head out the window. A sea of faces stared back at her, waving banners and flags. She saw the steel and blue flag of Alunde, and the burning red Mortefierren flag. Even the purple flag of Ethotaur waved in the gentle breeze.

"There are people out there!" she exclaimed, hand against the glass.

"There's so many of them," Luisa marveled, shyly waving at the passersby.

Mika just sneered, her pink-tinted glasses catching the light as she slumped in her seat. "I don't see what so great about having hordes of people screaming at you."

Victoria ignored her in favor of opening the window and reaching a hand out to the crowd, who cheered in response. Although it was difficult to discern individual voices, she thought she heard something along the lines of "Tell Madhavaditya I'm going to marry him!"

Victoria grinned, delighted, and ducked back inside to relay the message.

Madi just laughed when she told him. "You know, it's not the first time I've heard it, but I think they'd have to talk to my mother about that."

Nevertheless, he leaned out the window to wave. If Victoria thought the cheering had been loud before, they practically roared now. She nearly flinched back with the sudden spike in volume.

"Wow, they really like you," she exclaimed over the noise.

Mika scoffed. "Yeah, it's giving me a headache."

"By the Third Well, will you shut up already?" Victoria snapped, turning on her. "Enough, already! Who do you think you're impressing?"

"Victoria, take it easy," Madi advised. "Mika's just—,"

Whatever he said was muffled as the crowd got even louder. Victoria thought she heard the name Ophelia being shouted.

"It's that pop singer," Luisa realized. "I guess her carriage just pulled up."

"Ugh, god, that noise," Mika groaned. "It's driving me crazy."

She leaned out the window, brow knitted, but didn't speak, just stared at the crowd. Slowly, the crowd hushed, the shouts fading into mutters.

"What's going on?" Luisa said softly, looking around.

Mika smirked, pushing up her sunglasses. "Nothing, I'm just—,"

"What are you doing?" Madi's voice was low and sharp, his eyes black with fury. "Who do you think you _are_, Ethotaurian?"

She paled. "I—um…"

"Stop immediately," he commanded and she gulped, her gaze skating over the crowd quickly. Within seconds, the crowd was cheering again like nothing had happened. But the air in the carriage had become much colder. Mika's eyes darted wildly between the three of them, her expression trapped.

Victoria's heart picked up speed as Madi stared Mika down. _Oh, First Well…_

But just as suddenly as it had appeared, the dark rage in his eyes cooled and faded.

"You should be more careful," was all he said to Mika. "That kind of behavior might be permitted at home, but it's not going to fly here."

That seemed to effectively silence her, at least for the moment. Victoria couldn't help but feel some triumph at the completely shame-faced expression Mika wore.

Honestly, why were they such a bothersome lot? Those caves must have addled their brains or something, because they just refused to be normal, civil people. The Selection had hardly started, but Victoria was at her wit's end already, and clearly she wasn't alone in that sentiment.

"Let's all take it easy," Luisa said placatingly, looking between them. "I think we're about to reach the palace anyway."

The noise of the crowd fell away, as the carriage started up the long palace driveway. They rumbled to a stop and the door swung open. Mika was the first one to jump down and stalk away, while Luisa and Victoria were both helped down by a gallant Madi. To her dismay, he seemed even taller than before as she looked up at him.

"I think this is where we part ways, for now," Madi said, extending a hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you both. I look forward to our next meeting."

"Pleasure was all ours," Luisa said, cheeks warming as they shook hands.

"Apologies for getting heated," Victoria added. "I don't know what came over me."

"No worries." And then, leaning a little closer, he added, "I don't really blame you. I had some trouble with her attitude myself. But let's just keep that between the three of us, alright?"

With a final grin over his shoulder, he slipped away from the growing crowd of girls and rejoined Prince Silas, who stood to the side with his arms tightly crossed over his chest. Victoria linked arms with Luisa and they headed over to join the rest of the Selected.

"Well, he seems delightful," Victoria said, pleased. "I wonder if we'll talk with him again."

"I imagine so," Luisa replied. "If he's a friend of the prince, perhaps he'll stick around."

She pursed her lips. "That is the question, though, isn't it? What are those boys doing here?"

The crowd of girls went quiet before Luisa could offer a response, and they instinctively looked to where a man stood on the stairs of the palace.

"Hello and welcome to Castle Verelys!" The young man announced over the crowd. "My name is Rian Augustin, and I am secretary to Her Highness, Princess Stelle. During this Selection process, you are all welcome to come to me with any questions or concerns for her."

Victoria's eyes darted to where the princess stood, watching the proceedings with that piercing stare. Victoria would have called her beautiful if her whole demeanor didn't exude blistering cold. Like if you touched her, you'd freeze solid.

"We will now embark on your orientation of the palace," Rian said, looking at his clipboard. "You will be split into two groups, led by myself and the head of palace staff, Mrs. April Erikkson. When I call your name, please step either to the right or the left."

Victoria squeezed Luisa's hand tightly and received a squeeze in return. Some of the nerves eased as she took a deep breath, fighting the rush of adrenaline.

Rian cleared his throat. "Now, beginning with my group. Ahuja, Noor..."

Victoria waited until she heard her name called, and stepped to the left, reluctantly letting go of Luisa's hand.

"I'll see you later," Luisa said with a promising smile.

Victoria loathed to leave her only friend behind but simply nodded. "I'll see you."

Once the groups were sorted, Rian clapped his hands. "The orientation begins now. My group, please follow me into the foyer."

Victoria let herself be herded along with the group, but not before throwing one final glance backward. Just before the door closed, she caught sight of Madi, the prince, and the other boys slipping in and heading off to a side corridor. Her head tilted to catch what the prince said as they disappeared down the hall:

"I want to know what you all think of my Selected."

**.**

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**Thank you everyone who has been so patient with me and this chapter. I struggled a lot to get this out, but I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading, and see you in the next one~**


	9. Secrets and Sweetwater

**guess who's back!**

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"Fitz!" Silas called as his cousin finally disembarked from his carriage. "Over here!"

Fitz didn't turn, but held up a finger to tell him to wait. Anliu sighed as they watched him try to say something to one of the girls, who was decked in glittering jewelry that sparkled against her dark skin. She looked perplexed as he subtly struck a pose, clearly trying to chat her up in his own Fitz-y way.

"You think he's saying something stupid?" Silas wondered.

"It's Fitz. Have you met him?" Anliu replied as he crossed his arms. "When is he not?"

"Aw, cut him a little slack," Madi said, leaning against the wall nearby. "You never know with Fitz, maybe he'll—,"

He cut off to watch as the girl made a skeptical face and then neatly skirted around Fitz to join the other girls, leaving him to stare at her retreating back with a lovestruck expression.

"Or not," Anliu remarked, only kind of smug.

"Swing and a miss," Silas added, grinning as Fitz turned to join them, shoulders slumped. "Hey loverboy, how's it looking out there?"

"Life is hard for sensitive souls like me," Fitz lamented, a hand over his heart as he approached. "I can't help that I wear my heart on my sleeve."

Silas waited for him to get in range before sending a neat kick to catch Fitz across the ass. He stumbled forward but recovered before he ate concrete, glaring up at Silas.

"Ouch, what was that for?" Fitz complained, rubbing the point of contact.

"That was for forgetting whose Selection this is," Silas teased.

"Oh, knock it off, Si," he huffed. "You don't even want this Selection. The least you can do is let a poor romantic like me enjoy your punishment."

"Fitz, you've truly got a one-track mind," Madi said fondly. "Shall we head in?"

"Wait until they're done with their orientation prep stuff," Silas said, watching Stelle's secretary explaining something or another on the stairs. "When they leave for the tour, we can split off and head up to my room."

"I suppose you're going to want to talk about them," Anliu guessed, glancing back at Silas. "The girls?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but not here. Let's wait until we're in private."

"I must say, you got quite an interesting bunch here," Madi commented, stroking his beard. "My carriage ride was quite eventful."

"Mine too," Silas agreed. "I haven't had a chance to look through them, but I have the files on all of them in my room."

"Well, that's perfect, then," Fitz said, clapping his hands together. "I've a bottle of sweetwater in my room, so this sounds like a party! And you can all hear about my one true love."

"We're getting day-drunk in the palace?" Anliu asked, brow wrinkling. "Isn't that a little much?"

"Would you prefer to get day-drunk in the courtyard?" Fitz chortled.

"Two drink maximum," Madi said firmly. "We still have to be functional for the rest of the day."

"Three drink max," Fitz tried to argue.

Madi looked over, eyebrows raised in question. "Si?"

He hesitated. "I'm gonna say two drinks. Madi's right, who knows what else Stelle has planned for us."

"Okay, so what I'm hearing is that _you_ all have a two-drink max, and I'll drink 'til I feel it!" Fitz said cheerfully, clapping them on the backs. "'Cause let's be real, two drinks is _not_ gonna do it. C'mon, looks like they're finishing up, so let's get moving!"

Without giving them a chance to argue, he linked arms with Silas and Madi and led them fearlessly forward. Anliu let out a surprised grunt as Madi caught his arm, making sure he wouldn't be left behind as Fitz dragged them towards the palace.

Silas pulled free from his cousin as they approached the main doors, shaking him off with a grin as the guards allowed them to pass through, before shutting them behind him. The orientation groups split off into the grand hall, led by his sister's secretary and the head of staff, while the four of them took the hallway that led to the staircase.

"So," Silas said as they approached the stairs. "I want to know what you all think of my Selected. In general, what was the impression you got?"

"Ignoring the outlier who tried to stab another contestant, or…?" Fitz asked with a cheeky grin, earning a sharp elbow from Anliu.

"She apologized," he said with a slight glare. "It wasn't on purpose."

"Be serious," Silas told them firmly. Fitz waved him off with an assenting grin.

"It's a mixed bag," Madi said thoughtfully, after a moment to consider. "I liked some of the girls, but not all of them."

"I think I had a similar experience," Silas agreed, as they came upon the door to his room. "Fitz, are you going to grab the sweetwater?"

"Yep, give me one second." He jogged off in the direction of his room, while Silas touched the knob to feel the glass lock pins align to unlock the door. He, Madi and Anliu filed in, and Silas left the door slightly ajar so Fitz could get in when he came back.

While they waited, he loosened his tie and took his blazer off to roll up his sleeves. Madi had also ditched his jacket on Silas's desk chair and made himself at home on the bed; Anliu lingered for a moment at the door to take off his shoes and then padded inside to settle primly on the chaise longue under the window.

"Alrighty, who's ready to talk some shit!" Fitz announced grandly as he strode in with a hefty green bottle and a few glasses. Silas knew for a fact that he traveled with those glasses everywhere, in case he ever needed to start an impromptu drinking session. "Gather round, boys, let's have a toast."

"What are we drinking to?" Silas inquired wryly, coming to sit cross-legged on the floor as Fitz poured a generous amount of alcohol for everyone.

"Your Selection, what else?" his cousin answered with a grin as they all picked up their glasses. Fitz cleared his throat and raised his glass. "To Silas's inevitable romantic disasters!"

"To Silas's inevitable romantic disasters!" Madi and Anliu chorused while Silas flipped him off. They drank, and Silas fought not to wince with the sharp burn of the sweetwater hitting the back of his throat. He smacked his lips, noticing the distinctly mouth-puckering flavor of it, and cringed in disgust.

"Eleven Wells, Fitz," Anliu said with a wince. "Why is that so sour?"

"It's the special summer edition, it's lemon flavor," Fitz said, grinning. "I like it!"

"You're a psychopath," Madi told him calmly. "This tastes awful."

"If you're going to complain so much, come with me into the city, we can pick something up," Fitz said with a shrug. "I had a spiced cinnamon cream liqueur but I finished the bottle on the way here. We took a detour to Aure, and the ambiance was too nice not to drink."

"What do you mean 'we'? You and who, Annika? Isn't she like eight?" Silas asked, deeply concerned.

Fitz scoffed. "Okay, first of all, she's, like, at least eleven, I'm pretty sure. Besides, do you really think I'm that irresponsible of a brother? I'm talking about Kaz. He was gonna come to Verelys but Aure proved too convincing."

Silas very gracefully spat his mouthful of sweetwater back into his glass, earning a look of disgusted reproach from Anliu. "Kaz was going to come? Here? With you? Kazuo Saishiro?"

Madi suddenly laughed aloud. "Fitz, I forgot you didn't see Prince Suave here in action at last year's solstice."

"Yeah, okay, well, I don't recall you being the picture of grace and dignity either," Silas snapped.

Fitz looked at Anliu questioningly, who smiled slyly behind the lip of his glass. "Lord Saishiro showed up at the Solstice gala and both of them devolved into blushing schoolgirls."

From the look on Fitz's face, it would seem like Yuletide had come early. Silas and Madi both worked very hard to look anywhere except him.

"So, you're telling me," Fitz began, a thousand-watt smile dawning on his face.

"Noooooo," Silas begged.

"—that my _cousin_ and my best friend—,"

"Fitz, I will pay you to shut up," Madi said gravely. "I will pay you currency to drop this forever. How much do you want, I'm writing the check as we speak."

At this point, Fitz had fully devolved into laughter and was steadily turning blue with mirth.

"You," Silas proclaimed indignantly, stabbing an accusatory finger at Anliu. "You're downright sinister, Song. Why do we never acknowledge what a menace you are?"

"Sinister is relative and we hang out with Fitz. Besides, I'm too cute," Anliu reminded him solemnly, and Silas sighed in defeat.

"I hate it here," he said morosely. Madi patted him consolingly on the shoulder.

"Oh, Wells," Fitz giggled as he recovered. "Okay, okay, I'm good. I'm good. Moon and stars, now I wish I'd convinced Kaz to come to Verelys with me. What a loss."

"Let's go back to talking about my Selection," Silas said abruptly, trying to will the heat out of his ears. "Anyone remember that? The competition for my hand in marriage? Is this ringing any bells?"

Luckily, Anliu appeared to have some residual kernels of mercy left in him, so he let his shit-eating grin drop in favor of humming pensively. "I seem to recall something like that," he agreed. "Which one of us should start then?"

Fitz sighed. "It would be my pleasure to wax poetic about Miss Melissandre LeRoi, but because I'm not a total idiot, I'll let you guys go first. Whatever you guys have going on is probably more useful."

"I'll start, then," Madi volunteered. "Did you find that binder Stelle left you with the apps?"

"Yeah, here." Silas grabbed it off his desk chair and opened it up, poised to flip to whatever names Madi gave.

"So, I was with Victoria Edison-Verne and Luisa Pagel of Alunde, and a girl named Mika from Ethotaur."

"Alunde, Alunde," Silas muttered, flipping through the pages. "And...um, I'm guessing Michiko Ariyoshi?"

"That'd be the one." Madi tilted his head. "The first two were nice, I think you'll like both of them."

"It says here Victoria is from a well-known trademark family in Alunde," Fitz read off over Silas's shoulder. "Ooh! Her family makes watches. Hey, wait, their family totally made your watch, Anliu!"

"Once upon a time that was my watch," Silas grumbled.

"Once," Anliu agreed. "And then you lost a game of cards last month. A cautionary tale about the dangers of gambling."

"It was a good watch," Silas mourned.

"Stay on task," Madi reminded them, and they all turned back to the binder.

"Okay, anything of note to report about Victoria?" Silas asked.

"She was a bit eccentric but, well—," he shrugged and met his gaze.

"Alunde," they chorused knowingly at the same time.

"Exactly," Madi said with a nod. "But she's plenty friendly and easy to get on with. Luisa Pagel is a jeweler. She made my cousin's engagement ring, actually. She's sweet, but on the quieter side. If I had to guess, she's probably a romantic. Or that was the read I got, anyway."

"That's a good sign!" Fitz chimed in. "Maybe she's actually here to fall in love."

Silas frowned. "As opposed to?"

"Be a vessel for a greater political agenda, obviously," Fitz said casually. "I mean, you did let the Primors pick the candidates."

Silas grimaced. "Yes, well, we'll just have to make do with that. Let's move on. The Ethotaurian, what was up with her?"

"I didn't like her," Madi said, point-blank, which actually made Silas blink in surprise. That was a rare thing to hear from his normally easy-going friend. "I'm starting to think it's an Ethotaurian thing, to just use power with reckless abandon. Like the way Primor Carmine talks in our heads all the time."

All four of them instinctively winced just thinking about it.

"What exactly did she do?" Silas asked suspiciously, squirming discomfort growing in the pit of his stomach. Like the thought of having to get close to an Ethotaurian didn't make him nauseous enough, now he was hearing one of them pulled some sort of creepy stunt on her first day?

"I don't know exactly," Madi said slowly. "I just don't know enough about Ethotaurian powers to explain. But the crowd was cheering loudly, and she just leaned out the window and looked at them, and they just got quieter. Like she dampened their enthusiasm, almost?"

"Probably emotion manipulation," Fitz guessed, tapping his chin. "That's gross for sure, but it's pretty cool she can do it on such a big scale. She must be powerful."

Silas's jaw tightened, and he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. He _hated_ this. How could he be expected to navigate this competition using his heart if that couldn't be trusted? Not with these Ethotaurians around, anyway. And what about his mind? What if one of them meddled with his mind? The thought made his blood run cold and his heart beat a little harder.

"Silas," Anliu said, studying him carefully. "Are you…?"

"I'm alright," he said quickly, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "Just...thinking."

"About?"

He hesitated, trying to parse through the thicket of emotion growing under his ribs. "I don't like it," he ground out at last. "Those girls being here. They just creep me out. I don't trust any of them."

"Are you going to eliminate them off the bat?" Fitz asked, exchanging a little glance with Madi. "You realize that's a power you have, right?"

"You were there, at the Primorium," Silas said reluctantly, shaking his head. "You know what I promised them all, that each girl would have a fair chance of winning."

There was a contemplative silence as they each weighed the situation. No matter how he looked at it, there was just no easy way out. If he sent the girls home early, he'd be showing blatant favoritism (or lack thereof), and House Carmine was not an enemy he could afford to make, now or ever. Especially not if this Selection was the last line of defense to hold Hyalus together as he theorized it was.

"Let's just move on," he said with a sigh, trying to force down the panic climbing his throat. "Anliu? Care to share?"

"My carriage had Avyanna Bronte and Eira Bliven of Vinterbroste," Anliu reported dutifully, his expression smoothing out. "Bliven is a figure skater of some renown. She will likely have an advantage in agility and grace, but does not look to be an experienced fighter. Additionally, her meek nature demonstrates a lack of willingness to assert herself. Bronte is likely the daughter of the general of Vinterbroste. I expect she will have tactical strength and prowess in practical battle situations. She shows great potential to take charge—I foresee her as a strong contender."

"Um—," said Silas, a crease appearing between his brows.

"I also had Liu Lianqi of Haixin. She's a student at the Haixin Academy of Martial Arts, one of the best schools for warriors in Haixin. I expect the best from her. However, her misstep on the train caused harm to a fellow contestant, which could indicate a bit of overzealousness and potentially impact her popularity."

For a moment, none of them quite knew how to respond. Fitz broke the silence with a delighted laugh and saluted him mockingly.

"Well _done_, soldier. Anything to offer on, you know, the human front?" Fitz teased. "By the Wells, I feel like I just read a military report."

"Ah, um." Anliu's cheeks flooded with color. "That's just my assessment."

"That's all helpful, but what did you think of them as people?" Madi asked. "Did they seem nice?"

Anliu seemed a bit stumped by this one. His lips thinned as he mulled it over.

"Bronte….had a wolf?" he offered at last.

"So?"

"I don't know," he admitted, going pinker. "I just thought it was cool. His name is Glacier."

"Very interesting," Silas agreed. "And the girls?"

He thought for a moment longer. "I'm honestly not too sure. I would describe Bronte as somewhat abrasive but not entirely unpleasant. Bliven was quiet. Shy, I suppose? Liu Lianqi was a model of good behavior."

"Hey, objection, that's shameless propaganda," Fitz complained.

"Overruled," Silas said.

"I'm serious," Anliu continued, earnest. "She was extremely well-mannered. She reminded me of some of Luoxiao's friends."

"The girl who pulled a knife—sorry, a _sword_—on the train and tried to attack another Selected is 'extremely well-mannered', folks," Fitz joked. "Write that one down."  
"Being well-versed in etiquette and being willing to pull a knife on someone are not mutually exclusive traits," Madi countered. "She can be polite and violent. It's called being multi-faceted."

Anliu looked sideways at Fitz, eyes narrowed. "Anyway, just because Lumetierre's full of a bunch of conflict-averse c—,"

"Objection! Slander of Lumetierre," Fitz hollered, smacking his knee in protest.

Silas nodded. "Sustained."

Anliu sighed, offered up his wrist, and Silas gave it a sharp slap. To his credit, he didn't even wince, despite the red prints of his fingers appearing on his skin.

"Nice one," Madi snickered with a low whistle.

A knock sounded at the door and they all looked up.

"I got it," Fitz said, getting to his feet. He sucked a breath through his teeth as he approached. "Please don't be Stelle, please don't be Stelle, please don't be—," he pulled the door open and his eyes lit up, "—Faris!"

"Hey. Am I interrupting anything?" Faris asked, catching Silas's eye over Fitz's shoulder.

"Not at all, not at all," Fitz said merrily, ushering him in. "Come in, come in, have a seat. We're just talking shit, throwing shade, you know us. Say, Faris, how do you feel about lemon? Yes, no?"

"Uh, yes, I guess," he replied, not that it mattered since Fitz was already shoving a glass of that shitty sweetwater into his hand. "I don't need to stay, I just came to deliver a message from Stelle."

"What did she say?" Silas asked warily, ignoring the way Fitz was not-so-subtly pointing at Faris and anxiously mouthing, _Can he drink yet?_

"Just that there's going to be a welcome ball for the Selected tonight. Naturally, you all have to show up. Formal dress code and all that." Faris looked down at his glass. " By the way, you know I can't drink this, right? I'm eighteen."

"Of course, of course," Fitz said with a bright laugh, casually whisking it away from him. "Pretend it never happened."

"A welcome ball. Hm. Surprisingly, not one of her worst ideas," Silas mused. "We can learn more about the girls, then."

Fitz clapped his hands giddily. "And I can wear my backless suit!"

Silas didn't even glance over. "Nope, that's still off the table."

"Damn!" Fitz blew out a crestfallen sigh. "You never let me do anything."

"It's for your own good," Silas told him wryly, then thought about it for a second. "No, no, I take that back, you're right, it's for my good. Where were we?"

"I believe it's your turn to discuss the girls you met," Anliu supplied.

"Right." Silas paused for a moment, unconsciously tousling his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. "First off, I was with Anastasia Hildekant, so jot that one down."

"Anastasia Hildekant's in your Selection?" Faris remarked, eyebrows shooting up. "I didn't know that."

"The Ice Princess herself," Madi murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Is she as cold as she comes off?"

"Pretty much," Silas admitted. "But I don't know. It's hard to get a read on her. I don't think I dislike her. Still, she doesn't seem easy to get along with, either."

"I always thought it was weird that she wasn't at most functions," Faris said. "Not even when we were kids when she was still assumed to be heir."

"True. We saw her, what, at the Solstice Ball during Yuletide and sometimes during Midsummer?" Silas said, frowning. "But she hasn't even come to Midsummer for a few years now. Come to think of it, she missed last year's Solstice, too, didn't she?"

"She comes to Primorium though," Madi argued, but then stopped to reconsider. "Well, she used to. Actually, it's been quite a while since we've seen her there, either. Fitz, you've spoken to her once or twice, right?"

"Some. Not in many years, though," Fitz said slowly. He looked uncharacteristically solemn as he pondered to himself. "Before I was close with you all, I used to play with her during the Midsummer festivals, because her family always came early. Do you guys remember her mom?"

"I do," Madi said with a frown. "She was Prithvian, right? But not from my family. Wasn't she a commoner? It was apparently quite the scandal at the time."

"Well, she and her mom would come to our estate even before the first day of Midsummer began. Her mom was sort of overprotective but kind. Warm." Fitz's eyes looked so far away. "She brought these Prithvian ginger candies in her pockets and Anastasia used to share them with me. I don't remember her being so cold back then, just shy. Quiet, maybe, but warm. More like her mom than her dad."

He seemed to come back to himself after a moment, and his grin was a lot more familiar than that alien wistfulness. "But, you know, we've all grown up. I guess it's just a side effect."

Silas glanced at Fitz a moment longer, perplexed. The second everyone's attention had turned away, his smile fell in on itself and that same pensive look reappeared on his face. What was that all about?

"Two more in your carriage, right?" Madi was asking. "We should hurry up if we want some time to get ready before the ball."

"Right, yeah, um—," he scrambled to remember his train of thought. "Kandice Something of Blitzerren, I forget her last name. She was a piece of work, though, I didn't like her at all. Bad attitude about another girl, I think she was bringing it up to get me to do something about it."

"Says here she's a mercenary, so that's not too much of a surprise," Faris said wryly, peering at the binder. "Pretty sure a good bedside manner isn't usually on the required skill list."

"Mercenary? Eleven Wells, is Stelle trying to do you in?" Madi let out a deep sigh. "Oh, Silas, you're really in it now. Alright, who was your last girl, let's wrap it up."

"Ember, from Mortefierro. She was the only girl I liked in that carriage." Silas found himself sort of smiling just thinking about her. "I'm fairly sure she'll be sticking around for a while."

"Cage fighter," Anliu read off the profile. "Interesting. A general's daughter, a student warrior, a mercenary, and a cage fighter."

"That's a lot of fighters," Faris observed, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, in case you've forgotten, Stelle really wants me dead," Silas said flatly. "I'm pretty sure I saw a couple more girls like that in the binder, too. Like, assassins and whatnot."

Faris picked up the binder and leafed briskly through it, scanning the profiles. "Let's see. Warrior. Entertainment fighter. Primor's guard. Oh, you were right, assassin. Soldier. Wow, Silas, you're screwed."

"I hadn't noticed," Silas drawled with forced nonchalance, ignoring the clammy fear lurking just under the surface, closing in a vice-like grip over his heart. _Breathe, Silas._

"The only people more screwed than you are the girls who aren't trained fighters," Fitz added obliviously. "Because let me tell you, my carriage had a librarian and a pop singer and I'm thinking they should be counting their prayers."

Madi groaned. "Fitz, please don't tell me you fell for the pop singer. Tell me you didn't."

"Wish granted!" he said cheerfully. "I didn't! I fell for a High Priestess of Coranzorre!"

"Somehow," Madi responded, exchanging glances with the rest of them, "—that's worse."

"Can she even, y'know," Faris coughed delicately, eyes downcast. "Like, isn't she a holy figure or something?"

Fitz grinned a crocodile grin. "Knowing Coranzorre? I doubt that kind of policy applies."

Silas pinched the bridge of his nose, already anticipating a great number of headaches his cousin's escapades would doubtlessly be bringing in. "Tell us about the librarian and the pop singer first, then you can rave about your priestess."

"With pleasure!" Fitz chirped. "Okay, first up, the librarian. Min-hye from Coranzorre. Her family owns a chain of hotels and I'm pretty sure they're mega rich, but Min-hye must be estranged or something because she was definitely not mega rich. Also, she's a librarian, which kind of clues us in."

"Maybe her family was just really supportive of her librarian dreams," Faris suggested.

"Well, whatever the case, I don't think she's around her family these days. She got real touchy when I asked about it," Fitz said. "She seems nice but shy. And I dunno, I guess we'd have to get a Sensor in from back home, but I feel like she's hiding something."

"Like a secret dark side?" Silas asked, fighting off a looming sense of dread.

"Yeah, exactly. I mean, I have nothing to back that up, 'cause I couldn't sense if my life depended on it, but it's just a feeling I got. Call it a hunch." Fitz stroked his chin, thinking. "I wonder what her secret is. Maybe she killed a man, or likes cream cheese with her apples. Maybe she eats her bacon raw."

"With the way these other girls are going, my money would be on killing a man," Anliu remarked.

"Well, whatever the case, I don't get danger vibes from her," Fitz said with a shrug. "I don't think she's out for blood or anything."

Madi steepled his fingers. "And the pop singer?"

"Oh, yeah! Do you guys know Ophelia Finch?"

Faris erupted into a sudden coughing fit that had Silas passing him a glass with some alarm. His brother knocked it back without glancing at its contents and then coughed harder, his face turning red with exertion.

"Silas, he wasn't supposed to drink that," Fitz chided. He arched an eyebrow. "Faris, are you okay?"

"Doin' great," he answered hoarsely. "Sorry, did you say Ophelia Finch?"

"Sure did." Fitz beamed. "I didn't know you were a fan."

"I'm not," Faris snapped. "I just. Listen to her stuff sometimes, when I'm working."

"And snuck out to her concert last winter," Silas added, smirking.

"Faris!" Fitz gasped.

Faris flushed fiercely and crossed his arms. "What? It's not like all of you have never—,"

"You snuck out? We are so proud of you!" Fitz exaggeratedly fanned his eyes, blinking back tears of pride. "Granted, it was for a concert instead of a party, but hey, I'll take it! Ugh, it's times like these when being the bad influence in your cousins' lives is so rewarding."

"I can't believe Ophelia Finch is in your Selection," Faris grumbled. "Couldn't she have waited for mine?"

"I think she'd be well out of the age range," Silas told him.

He deflated. "Yeah. Yeah, probably."

"Well, anyway, Ophelia's pretty much what you'd expect her to be," Fitz said with a shrug. "Glamorous, fun, outgoing, real confident, sexy, and all that. And Wells, she's beautiful. Like, knock your socks off beautiful."

"You sure you didn't fall for her?" Madi said, head tilting.

Fitz laughed. "It was definitely a near thing. But no one could compare to Miss Melissandre LeRoi."

"Okay, you have one minute to gush about her and then you gotta clam up about it," Madi said, resigned. "Anliu, keep an eye on the clock."

Fitz took a deep breath; Anliu nodded at him to begin.

And so they all reluctantly braved one solid minute where Fitz chattered about Miss Melissandre's beauty, and her regal bearing, and did they see how fashionable and tall she was? She looked like a model, and when she spoke it was like a chorus of angels and when she passed by the breeze carried the smell of fresh flowers.

"—I love how she looks at me, with the slightest hint of—,"

"That's time," Anliu said, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Silas thought to himself that he was quite grateful Fitz hadn't yet had time to write any poetry about her, although it would be inevitable in the future.

"Right, well, if we mean to be ready for the ball in time, we should probably adjourn and go get ready," Madi reasoned, getting to his feet. "I'll bid you all farewell for now, if that's alright?"

"Me too," Anliu agreed. "Faris, is Rori in lessons?"

"No, he should be with his mother in the garden," Faris answered. "Although he'll soon be going to get ready for the ball, I believe."

"Well, I'll stop by and try to catch them anyway," Anliu said with a brief smile.

Fitz got up and joined them as they filed out. "I have a show-stopping outfit to plan," was all he said, winking playfully over his shoulder. "Time waits for no diva!"

Silas watched them all as they went, Madi leaning over to murmur something to Anliu that made him laugh. And then they were gone, leaving the room quiet in their absence.

"It's good," Faris said, at last, glancing sideways at Silas. "It's good that they're here. They make you a lot happier."

"And you? Where are your friends?" Silas asked, eyebrows raised.

Faris shrugged. "Does it matter? I can't see them here."

Silas studied his brother for a long while. "You know you don't actually have to stay here, right? You're third-born. You're kind of free to go wherever."

Faris exhaled as he reclined, stretching out his legs. His eyes fixed on the skylight overhead that let the sun into the room. Under his idle flexing fingers, the glass warped and swirled, making the light dance in tiny fragments across the floor.

"I dunno, Si. Like, what would I even do if I left Verelys?" Faris mused, eyes fixed on the shards of light. "I don't know what I'd do, or where I'd go. I don't even know what's out there for me to go see."

"Well, yeah, but don't you want to go find out?" Silas said, blinking. "When I was your age—,"

"I know, I know. The tour," Faris chuckled. "You didn't stop talking about it for a year and a half. And I'm glad that was your thing. You traveled the world with your best friends and checked all the things off your bucket list. But if I leave, who will stay here with everyone? Who's going to take care of Rori and make sure you and Stelle and Dad don't tear us all apart?"

"You can give us a bit more credit than that, we've survived this long on our own, haven't we?"

Faris looked much older than eighteen as his eyes drifted to Silas, pallid blue and resigned. "Have you?"

Silas snorted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The smile he received was exhausted. "Nothing, Silas. Forget it."

There was a pause. Something prickly and foreign crept into the space under Silas's ribs and lodged stubbornly there.

"Are you sure?" Silas asked carefully. He stopped, unsure, as he tried to find his words. "Faris, I know things are. Hard. Everything's totally fucked, I _know_ that. Just…. I don't know. I hope you know what I mean."

"I do." Faris quietly got to his feet and meandered to the door. When he looked back, his eyes were bright. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should try to get out of here for a while. Might be good for me."

"That's the spirit," Silas said with a grin. "I'll back you up in front of Dad if you need me to."

"I'll keep it in mind."

The door clicked shut quietly behind him and Silas let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. With Faris's departure, the illusion of safety that had manifested in the last hour dissolved, and the momentary warmth seeped away. In its absence, the full force of the circumstances rushed back in.

Bitter, icy fear struck him hard in the ringing silence, making his blood freeze and his muscles lock up. His lungs seemed to shrink in his chest; his breathing thinned. Silas wrapped his arms around himself and tried to ignore the widening chasm in the pit of his stomach, the black, long-fingered beast creeping up his throat, the squeeze on his heart that made it feel like his ribs would collapse.

The feeling that had loomed overhead all day wasn't alien to him, but now there was no time to go fight it out in the training arena or seek out his friends for comforting banter to numb it away. He would just have to swallow it down as best he could and continue on.

_Get it together_, he scolded himself, gritting his teeth. Across the room, he could see himself in the mirror, eyes hollow and burning, and shuddered with scorn.

_I'm stronger than this._

_I'm braver than this. _

_I'm better than this. _

And then he thought, with wretched determination: _I have to be._

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**originally this chapter was going to include the ball but obviously the tea session 9read: indulgent banter) got a bit out of hand. any complaints can be filed to world's best beta, miss sevenzeroseven for enabling this behavior. **

**make sure to check the pinterest board for more original art by Altomi to get your daily serotonin, and I'll see you in the next one! **


	10. Stepping Lightly

**I hope you've missed me! Ball part one, part two out as soon as I can crank it. And of course, big beautiful thank you to miss sevenzeroseven, recipient of the best beta in the multiverse award (nominated eighty-seven times, won eighty-eight). Now without further ado!**

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_Ophelia Finch, 20, Lumetierre_

Ophelia rarely loved her wardrobe but tonight's dress seemed to draw out a special kind of nausea from her.

"Aren't you a sight to behold," her maid sighed as she laced up the back of her gown. "You're a vision, Miss Ophelia."

"Oh, you're too kind, Evelyn," she replied with a glittering, red-lipped smile. The girl in the mirror grinned back at her, looking glossy and beautiful like a china doll.

"The prince is a lucky man," Evelyn remarked as she reached for the necklace pooled on the table. "He has his pick of any lady here, but you're by far the most beautiful."

"That's so nice of you to say. Of course, the girls here are all stunning," Ophelia giggled, dismissing the compliment with a flutter of her hand. "Evelyn, what do you think of this dress? Are you sure it's the right one?"

The monstrosity in question was an enormous tent of sparkling gold brocade that nipped in at the waist for a fitted bodice, encrusted at the swooping neckline with even huger gemstones. It must have been over ten pounds of pure decadence; for Ophelia, who was 5'3 on a good day, it was not an easy thing to move in. Not to mention, the corset waist was decidedly crushing and she was a little short of breath already. Looked like she wouldn't be eating tonight.

"Of course, dear, you look a treat," Evelyn gushed. "It's just your style, don't you think?"

Right. She was Ophelia Finch, and Ophelia Finch liked dresses like this. She opted for a delighted little laugh and a shake of her head to deflect the compliment.

"Now, to complete the look—,"

Before she could even process the feeling of fingers against her throat, she jerked away, hands flying up to cover her neck.

"That's okay!" Ophelia blurted out, taking a step back. "That's okay. I can put the necklace on myself. Thank you, though."

"Well, alright." Evelyn gave her an alarmed look as she hesitantly put the necklace in her waiting hand. "I'll go get your shoes for you, then."

"Perfect, I appreciate it!" She kept her smile up until Evelyn had disappeared to go retrieve the shoes, before letting it drop. She swallowed shakily, willing her heart rate to slow. She'd already checked Evelyn's potential much earlier and she knew it was full of light. Hardly a shadow to fear. _You're being irrational_, she scolded herself, rubbing the base of her throat.

The necklace was heavy and cold as she laid it across her collar bones. Each massive twinkling stone seemed to add another pound to her. The matching earrings were already starting to hurt a bit, but she ignored the tugging pain. This was what it took. Sacrifices had to be made.

"Here come the shoes!" Evelyn said cheerfully, bustling over with a pair of strappy gold heels.

Ophelia smiled and let her maid kneel down to help her put her shoes on. Normally, she'd resist the assistance, but she wasn't sure she could even find her own foot in all of the excess fabric, much less sit down or bend over to get it on.

A knock sounded at the door and Ophelia froze, her breath catching before she remembered where she was. Third Well, she was jumping at shadows today.

"Enter!" she called, inflecting her trademark brightness into her voice.

The girl who poked her head in was one of the other Lumetierren girls. Elena, if she recalled correctly, the sculptor. She couldn't help but enviously eye Elena's much simpler dress and jewelry.

"Hi, Ophelia Finch!" the girl said with the hushed awe that often accompanied her name. "You look amazing, wow!"

"Thank you, you too!" she said with a smile sweet as sugar. "Elena, right?"

"Yeah, wow, I can't believe you remembered!" The girl gulped, clearly gathering the courage to ask something. An autograph, usually. Ophelia began scanning the room for a pen. "Um, me and some of the other girls were wondering if you'd like to walk down to the ballroom with us?"

"Oh!" She paused, considering it. Would Ophelia say yes to such a proposal? On the one hand, it could dispel some of her celebrity mystique. On the other, she certainly couldn't look antisocial in front of Verelys' elite. Normally she'd just stick with Santino or one of the girls he liked to follow her around. She almost wished he was here if only to remind her what to do.

"It's okay if you don't want to," Elena said, eyes widening at her hesitation. "We just thought we'd ask, since—,"

"Thank you for asking, I'd love to," she said firmly. She hoped she'd made the right choice, and anyway the glow of soft happiness that illuminated her chest eased any worries she had about it.

"Great! Okay, we'll be outside, then. Take all the time you need!" Elena said, backing out.

Ophelia took a final look at her reflection. The girl in the mirror looked so tiny and insignificant, swallowed in burnished gold, outshone by a million sparkling crystals, burdened by pounds of luxury. An overwhelming urge to cry lurked at the back of her throat. It was always like this before the big events, where all she wanted to do was throw everything off and crawl into her bed and hide. These days, Ophelia Finch felt so claustrophobic to be.

But she couldn't hide from this. These were the sacrifices she had to make. And besides, so many people had it worse than having to wear a gold dress and make nice with strangers for a few hours.

She flashed herself a dazzling smile, wishing she felt half as confident as she looked, and then turned to go, bidding Evelyn a brief farewell as she slipped out the door. The dress was just as cumbersome as she'd suspected; she had a feeling if she turned a corner too fast, the sheer momentum a dress of this mass would gather would send her to the ground.

"Sorry to make you wait," Ophelia greeted the other girls, carefully navigating over to join them. "I don't think I've met most of you, I'm Ophelia Finch."

"I'm Luisa," the closest girl volunteered. Ophelia didn't need to check her potential to see the transparent kindness written all over her face. Her dress was subtle, a gauzy dark blue that was speckled with silver stones that looked like the night sky. Ophelia thought to herself that she would've chosen a dress like that if she'd had the choice.

A girl in a stunning floral two-piece, with what looked like fresh flowers tucked into her curly hair, raised a hand in a timid wave. "I'm Celestina. It's really nice to meet you."

"Celestina and I are big fans of your music," Luisa confided with a smile. "I think I've listened to Candy Hearts about a thousand times."

Ophelia was sure she was being genuine but it made her heart fall a little. Candy Hearts was her most recent album, and she'd only written two songs on it. Most of it was chosen by Santino in order to market bubblegum-pop sex appeal.

"I'm so glad you like it," she said anyway, nodding in acknowledgment. She turned to the other members of their little group. "Elena, I met on the platform. And you are?"

The final girl, dark-haired and pale, dressed in a misty-grey dress with a romantic silhouette, dipped her chin, not making eye contact. "Min-hye. Pleasure to meet you."

There was a brief moment where Ophelia felt her smile falter just a little with her interest. There was no question that she had to take a reading on this girl, she just had to figure out how to get close enough that she could make contact.

Then, remembering her audience, she beamed at Min-hye twice as brilliantly.

"You as well!" she said sweetly. "We should get going. This is so exciting, don't you guys think?"

"I honestly can't believe we're here," Elena exclaimed, hurrying and almost stumbling trying to stay next to Ophelia. "Since the five of us all have suites in the North Tower, I thought it would be fun for us to walk together."

"For sure!" Ophelia agreed absently. Min-hye had naturally fallen behind the rest of them with Celestina, and she wanted to figure out how to get back there without drawing attention. Perhaps she should just wait until they got to the ballroom and there was less attention.

"Oh, gosh, do you need help?" Elena asked as they approached the staircase.

Ophelia laughed, reaching for the handrail. "I think I'll be fine, but I'm so sorry if I fall and crush one of you. This dress is kind of hard to move in."

"We can take it slow," Luisa said with a grin. Her eyes lit up as the sound of music floated into the stone stairwell. "Do you all hear that?"

"Does that mean we're late?" Celestina asked Luisa, eyes wide. "Mr. Augustin said to meet outside the ball during the first song."

"No, but it means we're about to be," Elena said nervously. "We should hurry up."

"You're right, let's go." Ophelia gritted her teeth and gave up on descending the stairs gracefully. No one was even here to notice, but they would notice if she was late for the welcome ball. She wasn't going to risk it getting back to Santino.

She gathered as much of her skirt in bunches as she could to make it easier to move, and picked up her pace considerably. The stone was slippery under her heels, but Ophelia successfully avoided faceplanting, right up until the end. She felt the exact moment that she missed the final stair and the way her heart jumped into her throat.

But just as quickly, she felt a hand at her elbow steadying her, as if having predicted her fall.

"Be careful," was all Min-hye said softly, releasing her with a lingering look. "You could hurt your ankles if you took a fall in those shoes."

"The dangers of glamour," Ophelia said shakily, trying to gather herself. "We all suffer for it, right?"

Min-hye let slip a tiny, secret smile lifted the hem of her gown a few inches to reveal a silken slipper, noticeably without a dagger-sharp heel.

"Lucky," Ophelia mumbled without thinking. When Min-hye's eyebrow quirked, she quickly covered it with a dainty giggle. "But I don't think I'd trade. I'm obsessed with this outfit. I mean, have you seen the way this dress twirls?"

Min-hye's answering smile was placating at best. Ophelia tried not to feel tiny.

They joined up with the rest of the Selected in the hallway, a buzzing crowd of silks and tulle and glitter. With a glance, Ophelia could tell that her dress was unmatched in size, girth-wise, but to her surprise, she wasn't sure she was going to be the center of attention, as she'd expected from a dress this outrageous. One statuesque girl had long braids woven with gold threads, and the open back of her dress dripped with strings of beads and gems. She had to be from Coranzorre, based on the daring lacy cutouts in the dress.

The albino girl standing to the side in silver-embroidered navy velvet looked like a painting rather than a person, with dreamy lavender-grey eyes. There was another girl with wild curls and a seemingly-permanent glare, wearing a dress that looked like an elegant tornado of tulle, like red and black smoke materialized in fabric; another in a stark white jumpsuit and cape that seemed to glow in the dimmed light. One bizarre Selected (who had to be Alundish) was wearing a dress that seemed to be more scrap metal than dress.

But by far, the most striking dress had to be on the girl in mirrored sunglasses. At first glance, it was the deepest navy, bordering on black, but when she turned, a thousand dusky shades of amethyst and indigo caught the light. The fabric seemed weightless, moving entrancingly through the air like ink in water; the cut structured in the bodice and softly draped in the skirt and sleeves, with curved metallic teeth framing the bust and hip. Ophelia had never seen anything like it—and it looked like she wasn't the only one.

"She's from Ethotaur," Luisa whispered at her side. "I was in the carriage with her, her name is Mika."

"Her dress is incredible," Elena murmured bitterly. "Can't believe they wasted it on some Etho."

Ophelia mostly wanted to laugh. If she thought she looked ridiculous before, Mika's dress was making her look like a cheap tacky grab for attention. It didn't get any more obvious that a massive golden glitter mountain, and yet she still wasn't going to be the star of the show. It was humbling and relieving in equal amounts, but Santino wouldn't be happy about it.

Just then, the princess's secretary materialized out of a side corridor, looking harried.

"Queue up, ladies, it's time for your entrance," Mr. Augustin said, clapping his hands. "Quickly, now! Move it! The first song is about to end!"

As the orchestra played the final strain of the piece, the Selected rushed to line up. In the commotion, Ophelia was jostled away from the girls of the North Tower and ended up behind a tall, tanned girl in a flowing lavender jumpsuit, who did a double-take upon glimpsing her.

"Ophelia Finch?" she blurted out, just as the doors opened and the procession into the ballroom began.

"Presenting the honored Selected of the Hyalus Empire," Mr. Augustin announced as they paraded in, "—here to compete for the hand of His Royal Highness the Heir Apparent, Crown Prince Silas Morinth Gaffrey of Verelys the Eleventh Well, son of Alastor, son of Morinth of the Most Noble and Transparent House Gaffrey."

The gathered Verelysian elite, resplendent in the latest fashions, applauded politely. Ophelia could feel hundreds of eyes on her as she passed and whispers being exchanged behind gloved hands but kept her chin resolutely high and her smile undaunted by the scrutiny. No one would leave tonight saying that Ophelia Finch hadn't conducted herself with the utmost grace, in spite of a dress that looked like a dragon's hoard.

"His Royal Highness will now address his honored Selected and welcome them to Verelys."

Ophelia's eye was drawn up to the balcony overlooking the room, as Prince Silas stepped out, stiff like a statue, but dashing nonetheless. The silver embroidery on his jacket caught the light, as did the matching epaulets, and the cut of his jacket emphasized his broad chest. The pale blue sash that matched the flag of Verelys hanging from the balcony railing was pinned with silver medals that clinked as he moved. On his head was a coronet made entirely of delicate glass arches. Even from here, she could feel the white-hot burn of his stare, entirely different from Princess Stelle's ice-cold one.

"Good evening. To the newest guests of Castle Verelys, my Selected, on behalf of myself and my family, a warmest welcome. To old friends returning to celebrate this new chapter in my life with me, your support is appreciated. But to all the friends of Verelys present, I thank you, one and all for being here tonight."

It was a speech with very little substance, as far as Ophelia could tell. Prince Silas had a voice low in his chest that was easy to listen to, with that special upper-crust Verelysian twist, but his words were empty. Ophelia would know. She'd sung songs just like this, where every soulless word belonged to some else, start to finish. She wouldn't have been surprised if this speech was handed to him an hour before the ball.

The prince sloughed his way through compliments to his sister, acknowledgment of the hard work to prepare for the event, and even a brief recognition for his friends, for coming all the way to Verelys to help facilitate the experience.

"And now, before the night begins, it is my pleasure to invite you all to a toast." Silas picked up a glass of something light and shimmering gold.

Around the Selected, waiters stepped forward with trays of what looked like sweetwater, and Ophelia took a glass with the others.

The prince took a deep breath, his piercing eyes searching the room. Ophelia caught his gaze for the briefest moment before it swept on, relentless like a stormy sea.

"To my future wife: you are somewhere in this room and it will be my eternal joy to find and get to know you. I promise to stay by your side and cherish you forever."

Despite herself, despite knowing those words were entirely manufactured, Ophelia couldn't help the slight sigh her heart gave. Silas, to his credit, was very handsome in his intensity. He certainly wouldn't be difficult to fall in love with at the surface level. But everything was riding on the scan. Time and time again, experience had proved to her that a handsome exterior meant nothing when it came to kindness.

Some of his intensity eased and his expression lightened up to match. For a brief moment, he almost looked approachable. "To the rest of my contestants, thank you for being willing to put yourself in a place of vulnerability. You are truly demonstrating your loyalty to our great empire. I look forward to getting to know you all as friends and allies. Make all of your nations proud."

He raised his glass to the room. "To the success of this Selection, and the happy future it will bring our great empire. To Hyalus."

"To Hyalus," Ophelia repeated, the words echoing through the crowd. Beside her, Elena drank heartily, downing the glass in almost a single gulp. For herself, she put her mouth at the rim and tipped it backward but allowed no alcohol to pass through her lips.

The band in the corner started up again, and the crowd began to mix and mingle, spilling forward to meet the Selected. In the turmoil, it was impossible to see where her acquaintances had gone off to. Ophelia found a nice waiter to hand her glass of sweetwater off to, untouched aside from the carmine lipstick print she'd left, and then went looking for her companions. Verelysian nobles shot her smiles as she passed by, some even leaning over to try and strike up a conversation. But she politely deflected their attempts as she searched for the girls of the North Tower.

"Excuse me, Miss Ophelia?" someone said in Lumelir.

She turned at the sound of the voice, a kind refusal already on her lips until she found herself looking back at Lord Fitzcameron Torrid, sketching a neat bow with a grand swish of gauzy pink fabric.

"May I have this dance?" He asked, beaming. Well, perhaps she could delay her search for a second. He was a lord, after all.

"Of course," she said, belatedly dropping into a shallow curtsy. "I'd be honored."

She took his offered hand and he swept her onto the dance floor. His hold on her was barely there, hands almost floating above the points of contact, breezy and loose. She was surprised by the delicate sheer gloves he wore, which subtly but effectively blocked her Sensing, but with the whole ensemble going on, it was definitely not out of place.

"Tell me about your outfit tonight," she encouraged with a smile as he led them through the beginning of a waltz. Perhaps there'd be an opening to get skin-to-skin contact so she could Sense. She'd tried in the carriage, too, but he'd somehow neatly evaded all her attempts to touch him, despite being entirely oblivious to her intentions.

"Oh, this old thing?" Lord Fitzcameron asked, affecting bashfulness.

The outfit in question was seemingly comprised of a number of billowing blush layers of increasingly sheer fabrics that shimmered in the candlelight like sunlight on water. He wore a peachy silk shirt embroidered with crystals, tucked into billowing satin pants that just barely allow slippered feet to be seen.

At the waist was an elaborately-jeweled gold belt, studded with stones in shades of saffron and sunset and rose. Finally, over the whole number was a gauzy champagne-pink chiffon cape that trailed behind him on the ground like an elegant veil. Ophelia dared to say he might have shown every single Selected up, especially adding the glimmering rings, the dewy rose eyepaint, and the delicately-dangling earrings. He looked like an ethereal sunset prince and Ophelia couldn't be more awed (or jealous).

"It's absolutely show-stopping," Ophelia said honestly. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Oh, stop!" Lord Fitzcameron gushed. "Now you're just embarrassing me. Besides, look at you! I mean, clearly you came to _play, _way to go for it! You must ask Silas if you blinded him in the crowd during his speech, I'm sure it was the only thing he could see up on that balcony."

Ophelia found herself laughing. "I'll make sure to do that. Yes, I'm aware the dress is… a lot. Clearly."

"No such thing as too much," he said sagely. "I've had quite some experience with the so-called 'too much' on my fashion journey, and let me advise you that it's better to be too much in the wrong way than not enough in the right way. Being a visual atrocity is much superior to being forgettable."

Ophelia was sure that rule applied if you had the confidence of ten thousand men packed in one rose-swathed body, but she was not sure it applied to her. Still, she thanked him for the advice.

"I'm surprised you asked me to dance, actually," Ophelia said thoughtfully. "As I recall, you seemed quite smitten with Melissandre in the carriage. Isn't she your first choice?"

"Why, Miss Ophelia, don't sell yourself short! I'm a very lucky man to be dancing here with you. Men and women alike would kill to be me right now," he said huffily. "Besides, do you think this is my first time wooing a lady? I'm trying to play hard to get. Make her jealous and whatnot."

"Considering I doubt she's even watching right now, I'm not sure it's working," Ophelia told him, and he laughed.

"Well, I also made it my goal to dance with every girl tonight," he explained, and then stopped to amend his statement. "Actually—and don't mention this later—but I challenged Silas to a race to dance with every single Selected tonight. I wasn't sure he'd actually bother putting himself out there otherwise, but he loves a bit of competition."

That made her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Very shrewd of you," she commented, and he laughed again.

"I know how to trick my own cousin into socializing, I've been doing it for ten years. But that's all the tasty little tidbits you're getting tonight," Lord Fitzcameron sang cheerfully. "No more cheating from me! You'll just have to talk to Silas himself to find everything else out yourself!"

"Thank you, Your Luminosity," she replied with a grin, nodding her head respectfully.

"Oh, just Fitz is fine," he assured her. "I think we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few months. Let's put the formalities aside, shall we? After all, I'll be rooting for you on Lumetierre's behalf!"

"Can I be expecting any more of your help in the future?" she asked.

"Well, perhaps I could be persuaded," he said with a sly little grin. "We'll see, Miss Ophelia. But do come to me if there's anything I can do. All the Lume girls should."

"I'll spread the word," she agreed, smiling. "And I anticipate some memorable nights with you in the future."

"Oh, do you now?" he said, eyes lighting up as he waggled his eyebrows.

"You know what I mean, you rascal," she laughed. "I've heard you to be the life of the party around here."

"Why, you silver-tongued charmer," Fitz quipped, theatrically fanning a hand. "Yes, I should certainly hope so. But of course, it would be impolite to hog you all to myself tonight, and I can't let my cousin get a headstart on me."

The song was winding down to an end and Ophelia recognized his smooth offer for what it was: an escape.

"I understand completely, My L—Fitz," she said, twirling as the final bars played out. "It's been a pleasure. Thank you for your time."

"And likewise," he beamed. "Do come find me if you need anything! And have a good rest of your night!"

He went to release her hand in order to do the final bow, and she seized the fleeting opportunity as a sliver of skin at his wrist became visible. Her fingers brushed his wrist for the briefest moment, but then he snatched his hand back, quick as lightning.

"Ah, ah, ah." He wagged his finger, chastising. "Nice try. Sensing, is it, Miss Finch? Valiant attempt, but I don't take too kindly to shortcuts."

Her cheeks flooded with heat and she sank into a hurried curtsy, mind racing. How had he known what she was doing? She'd never been called out like this before. "I—of course, I apologize—˘um, I didn't mean to offend, My Lord, I just—,"

"You don't need to explain," Fitz said with a cheeky wink. "Anyway, I daresay that will work much better on my cousin. He's not as perceptive as I am, you see. So best of luck to you! I'll see you later."

He flounced off, that crooked grin unfazed as he went to seek out his next partner, and Ophelia was left, stomach plummeting, on the edge of the dance floor.

This was a potential disaster. Fitz was a _lord_. He could take her down with this little information. Who would believe her over the heir to Lumetierre? Her breathing became shallow. _Oh, no, no, no, no, no… Santino is going to murder me._

Someone cleared their throat politely. "Excuse me, Miss Ophelia, would you—?"

"No, thank you," she mumbled to the hand extending to her. Her skin felt too tight. Her corset was crushing. She needed to breathe. "Sorry—um—excuse me, I need—,"

She flashed a hollow smile and then fled the interaction, heart pounding. Her palms were sweaty, no matter how much she wiped them on her skirt. She swallowed with considerable difficulty. _Drink_, she thought to herself, navigating clumsily through the crowd. _Water. _

The punchbowl was mostly unattended, and she headed for it like it was a life preserver. Grabbing one of those little glass goblets, she gulped the fruity drink down without a second thought, relishing in the cool relief for her dry throat. _Eleven Wells. _

"Dancing a little strenuous tonight?" came a voice. She looked up and internally groaned. _Just my luck._

"Your Highness," Ophelia greeted cheerily, attempting to hitch up her smile. "My apologies, I didn't see you there."

"Ah, well, nonetheless: here I am," Prince Faris said, with a weird sort-of flourish of the wrist. After a beat, he visibly winced at himself. Ophelia blinked.

"Here you are indeed," she repeated, eyebrows raised. Certainly not what she expected from the famed Blank Prince. What was his game here? "Are you...having a good time, Prince Faris?"

"Oh, well, certainly," he said, nodding quickly. "Balls. Who doesn't love them, right?"

If possible, Ophelia's eyebrows crept even higher as he went bright pink. However, feeling merciful, she didn't wait to watch him torment himself over the gaffe. Her celebrity smile returned in full force.

"I agree wholeheartedly, Your Highness. Meeting new people is so fun." And then, because she was extra inclined to make a good impression tonight, she took the plunge: "Sorry to be abrupt, but I don't suppose you'd like to dance?"

"Yes!" he blurted out, and then looked generally embarrassed at himself. "I mean, that is to say, I'd love to."

"Great. Then lead the way," she said with a smile, taking his hand. His hold, as his hands settled into place, wasn't as light as Fitz's, but were still gentle; steady, and dependable where Fitz had been loose and barely there.

"Sorry, by the way. I've probably made a fool of myself already," Faris muttered as they stepped into the throng. "I'm not usually this… scattered, I promise."

"Not at all," she said kindly. "Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if you're a fan?"

"No, just accurate," he confessed, ducking his head. "I know you probably get a thousand interactions like this a week, so I'm sorry, but I really am a fan."

The sigh she silenced echoed a hundred thousand other ones. Great. Another person here with something to take from her. Royal or not, fans always approached her waiting for her to give them what they wanted: that celebrity experience, that act that they'd fallen in love with.

"It's an honor to have a fan in the royal family," she said without missing a beat. "I had no idea."

As she spoke, she squeezed his hand in hers, taking the opportunity to do a quick scan. Immediately, bright light flooded her Sense, warm and bright and tasting like honeyed tea. It was nearly blinding. Now that was a rarity—such pure potential. Perhaps she took back what she said about fans and taking. Someone with so little shadow couldn't possibly be bad.

"I'm not sure how you would," Prince Faris was saying as she returned to reality. "I'm not exactly known for being chatty with the public."

"Well, I'm glad I know now," she said. "And thank you so much for supporting me."

"Actually, I'd like to thank you for supporting me," he said with pink cheeks.

That nearly stopped her in her tracks. "Me? What are you thanking me for?"

"Your music really comforted me for the last few years," he said with a shrug. "It was what I needed."

What a cryptic thing to hear from a prince. She studied his guileless blue eyes and the gentleness of his expression. The genuine gratitude shone out of his face like sun rays. So unapologetic. It wracked her with guilt.

"Well, I'm glad I could help in some way," she responded anyway. "Music can be so healing." _How can you say I helped you when I can't even help myself? _

"You must really love it," he said, tilting his head. "I guess, it's like art is for me, right?"

That almost made her chuckle, this time bitterly. It had been a long time since music had been her comfort.

"You're an artist?" she said instead of answering. "I didn't know that."

"Sculpture, mostly," he agreed. "Glasswork."

"Of course." She nodded. "You'll have to show me sometime. Any of your work up in the castle halls?"

His grin was purely bitter. "Not yet. Maybe one day."

"I look forward to that day then."

A gloved hand on her shoulder caused her to stop in confusion. Faris' eyes locked on something behind her, and his eyes shuttered even as his mouth smiled.

"May I cut in?" a familiar voice asked politely. Goosebumps broke out on her arms.

"Of course," Faris agreed, stepping back and releasing her. "Miss Finch, I hope to speak to you again soon."

Ophelia turned to find herself staring up at the crown prince and suddenly felt very small. Faris and Fitz were no slouches in the height department, but there was something different about the way the prince carried it. She resisted the urge to shrink back from him.

"It would be an honor," she added belatedly, curtsying. She stared resolutely at the bump in his nose bridge rather than face his fierce gaze.

Prince Silas replaced his brother and took her hand and waist. This time, the hold was heavier and more certain, yet she didn't feel trapped. It wasn't Faris's quiet support or Fitz's airy guidance. This was firm direction, even while taking cues from her. Strong and flexible, and unmistakably polite. Still, frustratingly enough, the gloves thwarted her yet again.

"Sorry to interrupt, I'm trying to make sure I get to all my Selected. Miss Ophelia, right?" he said. He offered no smile, so Ophelia psyched herself up to redouble her forced cheer. She was going to be sunny enough for both of them if it killed her, damn it.

"Yes, of Lumetierre!" she said brightly, shooting a megawatt grin. "I'm a pop singer, have you heard of me?"

"I'm sure you know my brother's a fan," he answered briefly. It almost seemed like he wasn't looking at her, but just slightly above her. Not that she could talk—she couldn't even look him in the eyes. What a pair they were. "I confess, I haven't listened to your music myself."

"Oh, well, that's alright," she chuckled. "I've only really started to gain traction in the last two years."

He didn't even bother to offer a response to that, and she internally sighed. Okay, triple on the cheer. She allowed him to brace both hands at her waist and lift her up and over, as per the rules of the dance. Despite the dress, he didn't seem to struggle with her weight. Probably because she was literally a foot shorter.

"What about you, Your Highness?" she asked, sunny as she could muster as she touched down. "What do you do in your free time? Dance, clearly, you're wonderful at this."

That actually seemed to land home somewhere beyond his stiff expression, which softened with surprise.

"Uh, not really, actually. I mean, I was trained in dance as a kid. But it's been a long time since I've danced outside of balls," he said with a shrug.

"Trained in dance?" she repeated coaxingly. "Just ballroom? Or other styles?"

"Ballet," Prince Silas answered, and then looked startled, as if he hadn't intended to answer honestly. "...Actually, all my siblings did it with me as children. I was never much good at it, Stelle was the little prodigy. But I kept doing it since it was important to my—,"

Something dark stole over his face then, and his expression tightened up again. "Well, anyway, I quit a long time ago," he said briskly. "These days I just train or work with my father."

"Makes sense. You must have a lot to do these days with the Selection and preparing for your coronation," she said. "Do you enjoy your work, Your Highness?"

"Work is work," he said simply. "Do you enjoy yours?"

"My work is—," he dipped her low and her words faltered, "—well, it's as you said. Work is work. But I do enjoy music more than I think I'd enjoy anything else."

"That's lucky, then," he said. "It's always been an expectation that I'd do my work, so I do. I don't think it's going to get much better than that."

Ophelia was suddenly struck with empathy for Prince Silas. Although his words were detached and neutral, she knew the exhaustion of being trapped in your work. Everyone watched you constantly, waiting for you to fail. Perhaps they were more similar than she'd realized. She mustered the courage to lift her gaze to lock eyes with him, and really, his gaze wasn't so intimidating after all. He was just a man, just a person in a crown.

"Is it lonely being a prince?" she asked without thinking. His eyes actually dipped to meet hers for the first time.

"It is how it is," Prince Silas said, which was a non-answer if she'd ever heard one. He seemed to realize that too because he pursed his lips and added, "I have friends and family, and now I've got a Selection. Could I still be lonely with all these people around?"

_Yes_, she wanted to say. _Yes, of course. _

"I guess not," she answered instead, smiling. "It's good that you have people close to you. And I hope that I might be one of them when all of this is over."

"I...hope so too," he said slowly. Then all of sudden he smiled for the first time since she'd seen him.

It was miraculous, the way his face transformed with it. Previously severe, cold features opened up to reveal a smile more genuine and boyish than she would have expected. It made him look much younger, like someone within reach. Her heart leaped with surprise and something else she didn't want to think about because _it's just a smile, idiot, you've barely spoken to him and you haven't even scanned him yet, don't get carried away or you know what will happen. _

"Thank you for dancing with me," he said as the song faded out, slipping his gloved hands from her grasp and tucking them behind his back as he bowed. "I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Ophelia."

"Likewise, Your Highness," she said, curtsying. And then before she lost will, she reached out to clasp his bare wrist and say imploringly, "Best of luck to you, Prince Silas."

His eyes flashed, startled, but without suspicion. He perceived the action as overly touchy, not Sensing, luckily. So he had no idea when her Sense brushed him in the half a second of contact.

Roiling malevolence and snarling, snapping shadows seeped into her mind, bringing an onslaught of ink-spill darkness that clawed its way across her Sense, dragging the taste of old pennies through her mouth. She'd barely had a second to see the reading, but she knew she'd felt lurking rage and dredged up bitterness that swirled with something seething and malicious. Ophelia recoiled, dropping his wrist as though he'd burned her.

"Er, thank you," he said awkwardly, pulling out of her grasp. He made to leave and then glanced back. Her expression must have given something away because he tilted his head curiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she managed as she took a step back. "Good evening, Your Highness. Sorry if—well, good evening."

As she retreated back into the crowd, this time to look for the North Tower girls for real, she rubbed her arms to dispel the goosebumps that had broken out on her skin. It wasn't that she'd never seen shadows like that—she'd taken Santino's reading every day. But she'd never Sensed shadows quite so agitated like they were alive and hungry under his skin. It shouldn't have been as shocking as it was. But her heart had leaped before it looked, and now the cold water she'd plunged into was sending her reeling.

The scan was just potential. It wasn't a definitive judgment. It was a way to read possibilities of the way an individual might go in their lives. A heavy shadow read didn't mean that a person was certainly bad, only that they had the potential to do damage given something about their lives. Maybe trauma, maybe motive. Even if Prince Silas had a strong shadow read, she hadn't gotten a good look at the rest of his potential. She needed more time before she could be sure about him.

Still, Ophelia didn't stop thinking about white-hot eyes and boyish smiles and roiling shadows for the rest of the night.

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**Thank you for reading and I'll see you next time for parte dos :)**


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